Lilacs
by Galorin
Summary: Legolas goes in search of a childhood friend who is the only hope for averting a war between Dwarves and Elves. The road to the negotiating table proves a perilous one for them both. Chapter 18, Legolas and Moraelin discuss the future.
1. A Fool's Errand

Disclaimer: It all belongs to the Tolkien Estate. I make no money from this story.  
  
Legolas released the reins of his mount and reached into the collar of his traveling shirt to rub the back of his gritty neck. He grunted in frustration. *I'm as disgusting as a mortal*, he lamented silently, *Eru above, I would give my best bow for a long bath right now*.  
  
Several weeks on the trail had left Legolas weary, but glad to be nearing his home. He was returning to Mirkwood from Ithilien, where many of his people had chosen to relocate after the Great War. It had felt good to see the work of his own hands bring new life to that once glorious realm. Many of his subjects had marveled to see the high prince working side by side with lower elves and men in building structures and taming the lush vegetation into beautiful gardens. Legolas looked down at the black dirt still embedded under his fingernails and smiled wistfully. Maybe his current state of disarray was not so terrible, for he had earned it honestly.  
  
They were nearing the center of the city and Legolas cast a warm smile at many that he passed. He had missed this place, as he always did when he went away. This forest had long been a dark and suspicious region in the eyes of outsiders, but Legolas loved it dearly. The homes of elves lay scattered between the towering trees, some humble, and some elaborate, but all a little happier now that evil had been dispelled from Eryn Lasgalen. His father's palace now loomed above him, the structure carved into the solid rock of a cliff face. Its caverns and wide corridors went well into the earth, an exciting sanctuary for the young prince throughout his childhood.  
  
Legolas expected a cheerful welcome by the palace guards as he neared the gate, but narrowed his eyes with a sense of foreboding. Half the normal complement of guards was present, and those left behind looked haggard and anxious. Legolas glanced at the small group of attendants that had accompanied him on his journey. They returned his gaze nervously, also sensing some change. The guards let them pass, and Legolas hurriedly dismounted. Passing the reins to one of his companions, he marched into the palace without a word.  
  
As he came down the last twisting corridor to the door of the council chambers, Legolas slowed, hearing the commotion within. Voices laced with anger or fear were jumbled into a chaotic clamor. *It doesn't look like I'll get that bath after all*, Legolas thought with a sigh. He straightened his back and entered the room, scanning it until his bright blue eyes fell on the form of his father.  
  
King Thranduil was barking an order to one of his advisors when he spotted his son. His voice faltered as he watched the blond elf bow low before him and pause to take in all that was happening.  
  
"Father..."  
  
"Legolas, I-I must speak with you. Come with me," he turned briefly back to the advisor, "Send every healer you can spare out to the wounded, and tell Medeldir to pull his companies back away from the mountain. I won't let this disaster get any more out of hand, so tell him to do nothing until he receives further orders. Understood?"  
  
"Yes, my liege," the calm elf responded. He did not show the usual intimidation felt in Thranduil's intense presence, and Legolas recognized him as a seasoned aide.  
  
Legolas followed in silence as his father spun out of the room, his dark green cloak flowing behind him. They went down the hall to the ornate throne room and Thranduil sat slowly. He leaned forward to rub his tired eyes with his thumb and forefinger, and Legolas's frown deepened. He had not seen the King troubled so in a very long time.  
  
"Legolas," Thranduil began, finally lifting his dark blue eyes to those of his son, "It is good to see you. I am sorry I have nothing but dire news for you on your return. I do not know how to break this to you carefully, so I will just tell you the facts. The Dwarves mining and living in the mountains in the north of our realm have been multiplying for many years, as we well know. Captain Talendil had taken an interest in this and led his army to this region to assess the situation. His assessment turned into a full-scale attack."  
  
Legolas's eyes widened, "An attack? Did he have council approval?"  
  
"Of course not. But, you know as well as I do Talendil's hatred for Dwarves. He is a prideful elf, he desired no permission from us to pursue his glory and destroy the Dwarves."  
  
"Were they destroyed," Legolas asked, himself very fond of Dwarves. His expressive eyes were filled with concern.  
  
"Quite nearly," Thranduil replied, his voice emotionless, "But, Talendil...Talendil was captured, Legolas. We also took the Dwarf chieftain's daughter prisoner and two of his commanders. Many were killed and wounded and now it is a stand-off."  
  
Legolas closed his eyes, fear lancing through his chest. Talendil, his close friend since childhood, had quickly risen through the ranks to replace his father, Eregos, as captain of Mirkwood's army. He was an emotional commander; even moreso than his father had been in life, but now it would seem that this had been his downfall. Legolas knew of the Dwarvish desire for vengeance. He held out little hope that Talendil would come out of that mountain alive. But, he would not give up on his friend so easily.  
  
"Father, we must negotiate his release, we must tell them this was a mistake and that we desire to talk." Legolas's eyes pleaded with Thranduil, silently begging temperance from his normally fiery father.  
  
Thranduil growled low in his throat. "I would see every last one of those Dwarves struck down. But, I would sacrifice Talendil in the act, and I will not disrespect Eregos's memory like that." Thranduil's eyes seemed suddenly very far away, "I promised him I would look after the boy when he died...do you remember?"  
  
Legolas nodded shortly, not really wanting to relive the day his father's dearest friend had perished. It had been Legolas's first real battle after coming of age, and he had left that battlefield a changed elf. It had hardened him, put darkness in his heart.  
  
"Yes, Father. I remember."  
  
They were silent for a moment, both trying to ward off the disturbing memories. Finally, Legolas looked up.  
  
"Let me speak to them."  
  
"Absolutely not..." Thranduil sputtered, but Legolas barreled forward.  
  
"Father, you know I understand Dwarves better than anyone here. I know their customs, their body language."  
  
"Yes, Legolas, we all know of your friendship with Gimli, Gloin's son. But, do not forget your duties here. I could not risk my son and heir going into such a dangerous place alone, I would be a fool to even consider it."  
  
Legolas opened his mouth to protest further, but Thranduil leveled him with a firm stare and shook his head. Legolas's face suddenly changed, his features taking on a calculating calm.  
  
"Moraelin could do it."  
  
Thranduil's warning gaze turned more menacing.  
  
"That cursed child will never re-enter my city. Not while I sit in this throne."  
  
"She is the only one who could resolve this situation without further bloodshed. You know it as well as I," Legolas narrowed his eyes, "If you want to see your captain alive again, you will have to put aside your feelings about Moraelin and let me find her."  
  
Thranduil scoffed, "You really think you will find her this time? After she left the city, you searched for over two years and returned with nothing. What makes you think this will be any different? And, what makes you think she is still alive? No one has heard any word of her for centuries. Talendil is better off without his filthy half-sister, she will not save him."  
  
Legolas shook his head slowly, "She will. And I will find her. When I was last in Rivendell, Arwen told me Moraelin had been brought in badly wounded a few years earlier. Elrond tended her and she was known to stay somewhere in that area, accompanied by Aldruid of the Dunedain."  
  
"I won't allow this," Thranduil stated coldly.  
  
"If you want to keep your promise to Eregos you will," Legolas said firmly, "Give me some time...stall the council and stall the Dwarves. There is no one better to mediate with the Dwarves. When I return with her, you will see that I am right."  
  
Thranduil sat back for a brooding moment, digesting his son's words, but even more, the uncharacteristic defiance with which they had been said. Rubbing his chin thoughtfully, Thranduil finally said, "It is a fool's errand on which you go...but if you feel you must do this I will not stop you. I will stall the council. I will tell them to wait. But, passing Moraelin off as a mediator I leave up to you. And I wish you luck with it."  
  
Legolas did not comment on the sarcasm in his father's voice, although he wanted to. Instead, he bowed before the king and left to prepare for the road. Again.  
  
* * * *  
* * *  
  
Legolas had returned to his quarters to quickly change into fresh clothes and sharpen his knives. He glanced woefully at his bed; it tempted him after weeks of sleeping on the ground. But, his eyes were soon drawn to his dresser top. It held the few material things that were truly dear to him; his first bow, the arrow with which he had won the great archery tournament at Caras Galadhon, and a seashell Círdan had given to him when he was a child. On one corner, neatly folded, was the gray cloak gifted to him in Lothlorien when he was one of the Nine Walkers. He felt a smile cross his fair face, thinking about his dear friends and all of their adventures. He lifted the cloak and cast it around his shoulders. *This might come in handy*, Legolas thought as he fastened it closed with the beautiful leaf pin.  
  
He had retrieved his pack and was about to turn away when his eyes were reluctantly caught by one last trinket. A small glass bottle etched with swirling designs cast glittering specks of light on the wall behind it. It had a polished wooden stopper set with a single sapphire. His hand shook a little as he reached for it. It had been a long time since he had last allowed himself to open the bottle. He had considered packing it away, hiding it in some dark closet where it could not cause him pain. But, he could never bring himself to do it.  
  
A name was etched in the glass. Kirali. The bottle had belonged to Moraelin's mother, a Dwarf who died in bearing Moraelin. He remembered how it had saddened Moraelin that she never knew her mother or the ways of her mother's people. But, Legolas's own mother, Queen Myallore, had saved this bottle of Kirali's lilac oil perfume for Moraelin to have. The girl had treated it reverently, dabbing on the tiniest amount every morning. Legolas removed the stopper and frowned as the smell reached his nostrils. In the countless years that Moraelin had been away, the smell of lilacs had never failed to cause a reaction in him. Sometimes joyful, sometimes mournful, but always the feelings were strong. A memory flashed through Legolas's mind, he saw dark brown eyes smiling up at him, a short girl with wild black hair leaning on a pitchfork. She had always loved working in the stables, although her father's standing as Captain made such work unnecessary for her. But, the horses loved her, he remembered that. The memory was from a time while Captain Eregos still lived, and Moraelin was happy. After her father fell, there was no one left to protect her and she was alienated by the full-elves in Mirkwood. Even Talendil, her half brother, had scorned his Dwarvish sister after a time. Moraelin's life had fallen apart, and not even Legolas could help her hold it together.  
  
Legolas studied the bottle, his head tilted thoughtfully to the side, and it suddenly struck him that he might soon see Moraelin again. He would no longer have to nourish stale memories of his time with her; she might once again be at his side. Legolas carefully set the bottle back in its place. He could not let his hopes soar too high. Maybe his father was right. Maybe she was dead or would turn him away if he did find her. Legolas set his jaw and swiftly left the room. Speculation would do him no good. He just had to try. 


	2. The abomination

Disclaimer: Refer to Chapter 1  
  
Legolas looked into the expansive blue sky above him and sniffed the air. Winter had chosen to exit gracefully and was finally giving way to early spring in the northern reaches of Middle Earth. He stood at the edge of his mother's gardens, a walled sanctuary at the side of the palace. The Queen was a skilled healer, and her gardens were not only beautiful, but a source for many herbs used in caring for the sick and injured.  
  
After a few hesitant steps down the rough stone path, Legolas saw his mother, Queen Myallore, kneeling to collect an armful of dried flower heads. Legolas approached her quietly, but she sensed him and stood.  
  
"Legolas," she tilted her head to the side, her clear blue eyes rimmed with sadness, "You have only just returned to us...and yet your father tells me you must leave again."  
  
"Did Father tell you where I was going?" Legolas asked carefully.  
  
"No. He seemed in a bad humor, so I did not press him about it."  
  
"Mother, I am going to find Moraelin."  
  
Myallore looked down quickly, a myriad of emotions flitting across her gentle face.  
  
"Are you sure that is wise? After what Talendil did-"  
  
"I don't know," the normally confident elf sighed shakily, "I don't know anything. I...I have to try something. I cannot just leave Talendil there to die."  
  
Myallore caught her son's troubled gaze and smiled softly. She lifted a hand to his shoulder and gave it a slight squeeze. "You do what you must, Legolas. I know you will do what is best for Moraelin. From the time you were tiny children, she always had you to protect her. You will not fail her now."  
  
Legolas ground his jaw for a second. He thought such dark times were behind him. When the great evil of Mordor had been thrown down, he had seen ahead of him only rebuilding and renewal, not dredging up the pains of the past.  
  
"Yes, Mother. I will bring her back safe."  
  
She stood taller to kiss Legolas's forehead, and he felt suddenly strengthened by the contact. Warmth seemed to spread down his face and throughout his body and deep into his bones. Myallore was not simply a healer in practice, but was blessed with a healer's touch. She was known to be able to cure many by the touch of her hands alone. Legolas's grim face cracked into a half smile for a moment. Without another word, he turned down the path and left his mother to her flowers.  
  
When Legolas was gone, Myallore carelessly cast the plants she had been gathering to the cold ground. Her normal grace was conspicuously absent as she stumbled to a stone bench and sank down onto it. She twisted her slender hands together anxiously, her mind a turmoil of ancient memories. It had been long since she had thought of Moraelin.  
  
Myallore had been the midwife that brought Moraelin into this world. She had befriended Moraelin's mother Kirali, who was treated with suspicion and scorn by the other elves of Mirkwood. It was to be expected, she was a dwarf brought to live in an elven city, and the rift between the two races went back farther than any could recall. But, despite these hardships, Kirali had been one of the most vibrant, interesting beings Myallore had known. She had shared in Kirali's joy upon discovering her pregnancy and had easily agreed to oversee the birth.  
  
With an intensity of recall only elves can experience, Myallore could still hear the wild, animal screams rending the air the night Kirali was to bear Moraelin. The sound of it seemed to surround Myallore, coming at her from all sides as she knelt on the floor of Eregos and Kirali's tiny bedroom. She could smell blood, she was covered in it, everything was covered in it. Something was wrong, it had been nearly a full day since the labor had begun, and still the baby would not come. Myallore had not known enough about Dwarves to know what to do for Kirali, so she had provided a stream of encouraging words whenever the screaming subsided enough for her to be heard. She had tried to ignore the pale, terrified face of Eregos as he held his wife's hand and looked on helplessly. The tension of that room was matched only by the natural fury being unleashed outside. Four months of drought had finally broken, and a storm of magnificent anger was whipping the great trees of Mirkwood about as if they were no more than tender saplings. But, the much-needed rain refused to fall, and in its stead came constant lightning and howling winds.  
  
Myallore gripped the edges of the stone bench and gasped. She could not stop the memory. It had to run its course, no matter how much she hated to watch it all happen again.  
  
"Push. Now. Push, Kirali." Her voice, no matter how she tried to temper it, was coming out shrill and panicked. And then, with one last feral cry, a baby lay in Myallore's arms. She smiled, her chest heaving in relief. The child whimpered and then wailed weakly.  
  
"A girl! Kirali, oh, she's..." Myallore looked up as a bolt of lightning lit up the room and flashed on Kirali's face. Kirali's eyes were glazed, a smile etched across her lips. She made no sound, she was perfectly still. Myallore felt her chest tighten, shock coursing through her body. No. No, this was all wrong. Kirali had a beautiful little daughter to watch grow, to love. She could not...die. Eregos's voice seemed very far away, he was calling Kirali's name, crying out in pain. Dazedly, Myallore looked down at the tiny, squirming child in her hands. Tears were pouring from her eyes onto the baby's blotchy skin. She cradled the baby against her chest, feeling its warmth and life in stark contrast to the senselessness and unfairness of the death that had just happened next to it. Eregos was looking up now as someone burst into the room.  
  
"Fire...burning...to the palace," snippets of words reached Myallore's ears and she felt hands hauling her to her feet. She was led in confusion to the door with the newborn still held against her. She stopped, and looked back through her tears at Eregos. He was bending to gently lift the body of his wife in his arms. He was smiling down at her, his eyes full of such tenderness that for a moment Myallore heard not the roaring of flames or the yelling of elves, she was hypnotized by the tragic beauty of Eregos's love for Kirali. Then, she was being dragged through the storm, as leaves were whipped into her face and branches rained down about her. Though it was the deepest part of the night, the city was cast in an eerie orange glow as a great wall of fire cut hungrily through the forest. She now saw Thranduil running toward her, and he quickly kissed her, his eyes burning into hers for a charged moment. Then he was gone again, rallying the army to combat the fire that was rushing headlong into his kingdom.  
  
Myallore had taken the Moraelin to her chambers and cleaned her, dressed her in the clothes that Kirali had made for her, and watched over the weak life of the child. Her healer's touch seemed to soothe the child, and by some miracle, Moraelin survived the night. In the morning, Myallore discovered that half of the expansive forest of Mirkwood had burned before the rain had finally, mercifully fallen. She had been oblivious to it though, sitting in a chair in her bedroom singing ancient songs to Moraelin. It was only a few days later that she dared leave the child alone and heard the terrible whisperings. Acidic comments about an abomination, a cursed, half-blooded child that had brought the fury of nature down on Mirkwood. She had curled her lip with uncharacteristic venom at the narrow-minded elves who dared blame this tragedy on an innocent baby. It was not until she caught Thranduil joining in such dark speculation that she knew how prevalent these attitudes were. Even her own wise, noble husband was indulging in this superstitious foolishness.  
  
Myallore had retreated into the sanctuary of her chamber, convinced she could shield Moraelin from the hurtful things being spoken about her. Only Eregos was allowed near the child as Myallore cared for her day and night. Moraelin was sickly and did not respond well to the horse milk that was given to her as a substitute for her mother's milk. Myallore had given birth to Legolas more than three years earlier and there were no new mothers in the city. There was no one to nurse Moraelin in Kirali's place, so the child was always hovering just beyond death's reach.  
  
Eregos would come to see his daughter often, but he was a different elf after Kirali died. Many times in those first few months, he would enter the room and shuffle uncertainly to the side of Moraelin's crib. He would look down at the child, maybe brush a careful finger over her fine black hair. But, it would not be long before tears would gather in his normally stern blue eyes. He would turn then and quickly leave the room, before Myallore could see him weep. He never said a word. Myallore knew seeing the child caused him pain beyond that which he could bear.  
  
Myallore sighed and rose from the bench, bending to gather the discarded flowers and continue her work. Though her heart burned with the searing pain of those memories now relived, she tried to ignore it and reassemble her mask of serene composure. It was more difficult than usual. Stopping the shaking in her hands by sheer will alone, she re-entered the palace, and none, not even Thranduil, noticed the tiny glimmer of hurt in her eyes.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Legolas cracked a dry twig in his hands and tossed it absently into the fire. He was leaning back against a downed tree as night gathered around him. He tried not to think about the time he was losing by indulging in such a rest. Although he physically needed little rest, his mount was exhausted. And, at least until he was in the mountains, he would need the horse to cover the distance to Rivendell swiftly.  
  
Legolas hoped to talk to Elrond's sons and find what they knew of Moraelin's whereabouts, or news of the Rangers that she had befriended. The firelight reflected in Legolas's blue eyes as he watched the flames thoughtfully. He wondered what Rivendell would be like now that Elrond had gone over the sea. Legolas had traveled there numerous times on behalf of his father, and could not even imagine what those peaceful balconies and walkways would feel like without the powerful presence of Elrond Halfelven reverberating throughout the valley.  
  
He tried to rest, but doubts haunted him. Maybe his mother was right, maybe he should not trouble Moraelin with what had happened to Talendil. He realized she really had no obligation to help Talendil...not after what had happened.  
  
Although they had been very close as children, after their father died, Moraelin and Talendil's relationship had changed dramatically. Talendil had become more cold, more calculating, driven not only by his own ambitions, but also by his shrewd mother, Ilianel. He was poised to take over Mirkwood's army, but many elves questioned his worthiness, and speculated how being raised alongside "the cursed child" might have affected him. He was at risk of losing his power, losing everything his parents had groomed him from birth to accomplish. This could not be tolerated. So, he had done what he felt was his only option...he had rid himself of Moraelin.  
  
Talendil had sent her away, telling her that she did not belong among full- elves, and it would be better for everyone involved if she left Mirkwood and never returned. He told her that he never wanted to see her again. And she had gone. This had, of course, all taken place while Legolas was away on a mission for his father. He still burned with anger to think of the night he had returned to find her gone. He had hunted down Talendil in the middle of the night, he had been nearly angry enough to kill the arrogant elf. But, somehow, over the years he had made his peace with Talendil.  
  
So, Moraelin would probably laugh in his face at his request, if he were able to find her at all. Legolas snapped his wrist, sending another twig into the fire. He cursed under his breath at the mess Talendil had created. Ever since he was a child, he had always been trouble. Of course, he had had the mischievous Prince Legolas to learn from. Legolas chuckled reluctantly, shaking his head. He remembered the time they had put dye in the washbasin of the stuffy ambassador from Lothlorien that had turned his hair green for a fortnight.  
  
*Just a few more days* Legolas thought as sleep finally took him, *Just a few more days and I will be in Rivendell. And I will see where the fates take me from there.* 


	3. A Tired Land

A light breeze caught a strand of Legolas's fine blond hair and blew it across his cheek as he stared out across an expanse of jagged mountains. The air was cold and damp about him and patches of thick fog had settled gently in the valleys like handfuls of goose down cast carelessly to the wind. The Misty Mountains earned their name that morning as Legolas left the foothills and turned toward the pass, climbing in earnest now. His horse, Embryn, was eager and took on the treacherous trails without hesitation.  
  
Legolas slowed the animal however, indulging in a moment to look about him at the beauty of the mountains. The early morning sunlight stained the peaks a soft pink. High above his head towered a sharp ridge, its rough surface tinged with red and black with a few tenacious pine trees clinging on to tiny footholds. These trees seemed to survive on bare rock and he marveled at the cleverness of nature, to make a home where it would seem nothing could live.  
  
As Legolas pressed on, a cluster of fine wooden houses came into view, and he dismounted. A gigantic man rose from the porch of one of the buildings and lumbered over to him. He was of the Beornings, the legendary men who had long watched the High Pass.  
  
Legolas produced a small pouch from his saddlebag and handed it to the man in silence. The Beorning emptied the coins into one huge, callused palm and counted them quickly. He looked up and met Legolas's eyes with a solemn and surprisingly intelligent stare.  
  
"I do not know if today is a good day to challenge the mountain, Sir Elf. The sky looks rather angry over the pass."  
  
Legolas glanced over the Beorning's meaty shoulder as the man continued, "We could surely offer you lodging and a stall for your mount so you might try for better luck on the morrow."  
  
The elf spared him a thankful grin, "I appreciate your counsel, friend. But, I fear my errand is too urgent for me to wait."  
  
The Beorning nodded his bearded head in understanding and stepped aside, "Then may the skies be merciful until your task is done."  
  
As Legolas continued down the muddy trail, the sky roiled above him, gray-black clouds churning restlessly. Legolas sighed but rode on undaunted. It did not appear any mercy would be forthcoming.  
  
* * * *  
  
Legolas paused, brushing wet snowflakes off of his face. He turned back to his horse. Legolas was leading the poor beast by the reins, as it watched with woe and near envy the elf walking easily on top of the soft snow before it. Legolas rubbed the horse's cheek gently as the animal nudged his chest. "I will not leave you behind, my friend. Fear not, we will conquer this together. I think we are through the worst of it."  
  
His words seemed hollow even to his own ears. Legolas glanced anxiously up at the wide ridge above them, and foreboding filled him, like a cold lump of lead in his stomach. The deep snows of the mountains were unstable in spring as they thawed, and the pass led them across a bowl- shaped valley rimmed with high peaks. They would be completely vulnerable as they crossed it, subject to the whims of the ancient mountains.  
  
"Come, Embryn," Legolas ordered gruffly, and the horse trudged after him across the valley. The snow was falling more lightly now, and finally the sun emerged. It warmed the blinding, endless white of the snow. Legolas started as he heard a crack, knowing the snowpack was shifting on one of the ridges. He urged the exhausted horse more quickly. He regretted for a moment that he had not taken the Beorning's advice, that he had not stayed in their settlement until conditions improved.  
  
The prince felt his tension ease as he began the grueling ascent on the other side of the bowl. The trail zig-zagged up a nameless peak, carved roughly into the stone. The path was so narrow that Legolas and Embryn were one misstep from a precipitous drop that would make the hardiest being pale to think of.  
  
Legolas was concentrating so intently on staying away from the edge, that he did not notice the sound right away. Then, he lifted his blond head slowly, gazing out across the expansive valley as a dull rumbling seemed to vibrate through the air. His jaw was clenched with fear as the sound began to build into a crackling roar. He pressed himself back against the rock face, his blue eyes wide. Across the valley, it looked as if the entire side of the mountain was falling off, countless tons of snow barreling down the slope. He watched in awe and horror as trees and boulders were torn from the mountainside, the uncaring mass of snow destroying all in its path. The sheer power of it left Legolas shaken. And, just as quickly, it was over. A disturbing silence settled over the land, and if not for the mass of dirty snow dotted with uprooted pines one might not even know that such fury had been unleashed only seconds earlier. Legolas tried to relax shoulders that had gone tight with alarm and gripped the reins tightly.  
  
"Let's get out of these mountains, Embryn. Their charm has worn off for me."  
  
Legolas and Embryn pressed on, until finally they reached the top of that rise and a series of switchbacks delivered them to lower elevations on the other side. They soon left the permanent snows of the alpine lands, the terrain becoming much less punishing. A small clearing lay before them, still the dull yellow of dead grass. Legolas imagined in a few months it would be a nearly blinding green and dotted with wildflowers. Finding a sheltered spot next to a large boulder, Legolas let his horse rest. It would be a short delay, however, for he knew Rivendell was close. He changed into dry clothes as the sun dropped below the horizon. A chill fell across the valley, and Legolas pulled his Lorien cloak tight about him. Retrieving Embryn, Legolas leapt atop the horse and urged it at a steady gallop for Rivendell.  
  
* * * *  
  
Legolas had nearly reached the bottom of the steep trail into Rivendell and he had seen no one. An eerie silence lay over the magnificent city, a tired surrender turning the air dull and dry. Legolas frowned deeply, dismounting as he crossed under a stone arch. It was carved like two beech trees whose branches met in the middle, crossing arms fondly. It showed the same astonishing detail as all of the architecture in Rivendell and was a remnant of a time of earlier glory. Legolas looked over the stairs and terraces, once bustling with elves and humming with energy. After taking a few more tentative steps, his gaze was caught by a lone figure watching him from a high balcony. For a moment, Legolas started, sure the solemn figure was Elrond himself. But, Legolas soon realized this was not the Lord of Rivendell, but rather his son, who stood watching Legolas with stony gray eyes. Legolas smiled, raising a slim hand in greeting. Elrohir finally raised a hand in kind, a smile spreading across his harsh face.  
  
Elrohir unhurriedly followed the spiraling stairs to ground level. When finally he had reached the Prince, Elrohir approached with a wide grin. Legolas chuckled, gripping the elf's shoulder, "Elrohir, it is good to see you again," Legolas studied the elf's face carefully, seeing his features seemed heavy with worries and sorrows.  
  
"And you, Legolas. Come, we will stable your mount and find you some food. Then we will talk."  
  
Reluctantly Legolas followed. He wished to speak that instant of his errand, but he did not want to leave Elrohir so quickly. The elf was in pain, and Legolas hoped what little companionship he could provide might help him. Legolas had known Elrohir for most of his life. Although the relationship between their fathers had always been a prickly one, Legolas had gotten along well with Elrohir and Elladan on the rare occasions that they accompanied their father to Mirkwood. They were mischievous souls, and fit in well with Legolas and Talendil because of it.  
  
Legolas glanced around the city again, wistfully, thinking of all that had faded before his eyes in recent years. Although new life had been breathed into Middle Earth after the Great War, there were people and places that paid dearly for it. He allowed his mind to wander for a moment, following the long paths of his life back to his youngest days. He remembered the carefree summers that saw two blond elf boys and one tiny dark girl darting between the trees of Mirkwood, their innocent laughter filtered by the thick leaves. He saw Talendil hoisting Moraelin into the branches, where she awkwardly climbed after him, never wanting to be outdone by her younger brother. What had happened to them all? What had happened to those times of joy and companionship? They had been dashed against the shore by the waves of time, crushed beyond repair. He looked up at Elrohir's back, held proudly but with great effort. His world was also being torn down around him by the juggernaut of change. And yet, he stood, against the odds. He reminded Legolas of the stunted trees on the mountainside. All around them lay bare, and yet they persisted, their will to survive greater than the forces that tried to destroy them.  
  
When finally Legolas was fed, he joined Elrohir in a small sitting room that overlooked one of the spectacular waterfalls pouring down the sheer cliffs along the edges of the realm. Sitting in a softly upholstered chair, Legolas watched Elrohir in silence. The elf stood for a moment, staring into the rushing waters with narrowed eyes.  
  
"Where is your brother these days?"  
  
Elrohir's gaze remained transfixed by the falls in the distance; "He decided to accompany Grandfather to Gondor to visit Arwen. I felt I should remain...to watch over things here. He should return in a few weeks."  
  
"How have you fared since your father sailed?" Legolas asked quietly.  
  
Elrohir's gaze dropped for a moment, and his dark hair fell gently forward, hiding his face. "It has been difficult. More difficult than when Mother crossed over to the Undying Lands. For when she left us, Elladan and I were able to turn to our father for comfort. Now, we have no one. Just each other, and Grandfather." He sighed, finally turning to face Legolas, "I thought that I would never leave here, that the sea did not call me. But, I did not realize what it would be like to watch everyone else depart...how hard it would be to let them go. I did not imagine it would be so lonely here."  
  
"Do you think that you will go one day?"  
  
"I do not think so." Elrohir's voice was somber, defeated.  
  
"You will not go because Elladan and Celeborn choose to stay?" Legolas asked softly.  
  
"I do not think my brother could ever leave this sanctuary behind, it is far too dear to him. And, I cannot go without him. So, it would appear my fate has been decided. What about you, Legolas?"  
  
Legolas smiled sadly, "Your Grandmother, Galadriel, warned me about the call of the sea. But, I did not heed her. Its pull is very strong on me now, but I have much yet to do here. I will resist it until I feel I have done what I must in this land."  
  
"You are here about Moraelin."  
  
Legolas's head shot up in surprise. It was not a question, it was clear Elrohir already knew it to be true. It would appear Elrond's great wisdom had taken root in his child, for he too could read people in an instant.  
  
"Yes. What do you know of her?"  
  
Elrohir sat in a chair across from Legolas, leaning back easily. It was clear he was glad to be talking about something other than his own troubles. "I know that Aldruid of the Dunedain was here two weeks ago and intended to search her out also. He was friends with Moraelin before the War, but he rode with the Dunedain to fight for Estel when it started. He is a cousin to Estel, their mothers were sisters, and now lives in Gondor in service of the King. He comes back every spring, to see Moraelin. It was he that brought her here when she was injured fighting orcs. She was hurt very badly, Father tended her for a few months before she could move on once again."  
  
"Did Aldruid know where he might look for her," Legolas tried to keep the eager note from his voice, but Elrohir grinned lazily, knowing he had the Prince's full attention.  
  
"He said she now stays mainly in an area called Dreary Vale. There is a small village there where she and Aldruid often stayed along with a few other Rangers. I could tell you roughly how to get to it, but I cannot promise she is still there. But, if you find Aldruid, you will find Moraelin."  
  
Legolas nodded thoughtfully, his spirits lifted by this new information.  
  
"Why do you finally hunt for her now...after all these years." Elrohir asked.  
  
Legolas's face filled with sadness and frustration, "Talendil is in danger. He has been captured by Dwarves and I seek Moraelin to help him."  
  
"I am saddened to hear that. But, you finally have your excuse to seek for her." Elrohir said, his granite eyes unreadable. Before Legolas had time to ponder this statement, Elrohir forged ahead.  
  
"Tell me, Legolas, what is Moraelin's story? Not even Father knew how it could have happened."  
  
"What do you mean?" Legolas asked cautiously, his guard went up as it often did when the subject of Moraelin's lineage was raised.  
  
"How did a Dwarf come to live in Mirkwood in the first place?" Elrohir's face was full of kind curiousity, and Legolas relaxed a little.  
  
"My mother told me that although dwarf women rarely leave their settlements, Moraelin's mother, Kirali, was the child of a powerful chieftain and desired to travel. She was with a party of male dwarves traveling along the southern borders of Mirkwood when they were attacked by orcs. Captain Eregos and a few of his soldiers came upon them a few hours later on patrol, and all of the males were dead, but Kirali was just barely alive. Eregos's parents were both healers and by his talents he was able to save her. They fell in love and she stayed with him as his wife." Legolas's face clouded a little, "Kirali died bearing Moraelin, and a few years later Eregos remarried...reluctantly. I think he was so frightened by the prospect of raising a child alone he accepted Lady Ilianel with little thought. Talendil was born soon after. That is all there is to tell."  
  
"An incredible tale, to be sure," Elrohir replied with raised eyebrows. "And it would have to be an incredible maiden that could burrow into the stern heart of Mirkwood's Prince."  
  
Legolas blushed right to the pointed tips of his ears. Elrohir laughed heartily at this, "I tease you, my friend. She is strong and good, and I hope that you find her. Come, enough of this serious talk. I hope that when the sadness of these times subsides, the handful of us remaining in this valley can start anew, and laughter will be heard again in Rivendell. But, why must we wait? Let us speak of lighter things and laugh together, as we did in years past."  
  
The conversation easily shifted to the antics of their younger days, Spring Festivals in Mirkwood and hunting trips into the mountains. And, for a few hours, the world did not seem dark and tired, they remembered the world of their youth, shimmering with promise. At least for a while, it seemed that way to them again. 


	4. Dreary Vale

Disclaimer: Refer to chapter one.  
  
Author's note: In my little corner of Tolkien's universe, Dwarves live a VERY long time and dwarf women do not have beards. Trust me, it makes it all work!!  
  
Thank you so much to everyone taking the time to read and review...you are all wonderful!!  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
Legolas reined in his mount as apprehension welled up in his stomach.  
  
"This is it," he murmured, scanning the land ahead carefully. He was nervous, his neck tightened with unease. He had followed Elrohir's directions carefully, the last day of his trek spent picking his way through a narrow canyon next to a stream. It had finally opened into a small valley tucked into the foothills of the Misty Mountains. A rambling collection of squat shacks and roughly fenced pasture sat next to the creek where it ambled through the plain. Legolas urged Embryn forward as night gathered around them. Faint candlelight soon shined through the windows, making the squalid settlement seem somehow more inviting. As he entered the outskirts of the village, he saw pigs huddled under lean-tos in the corner of their pens and chickens wandering across the single muddy street. All of the buildings had the same simple design, they were boxy wooden structures with no ornamentation. There was one notable exception. At the end of the street sat a two-story building with a simple sign hanging from the eaves, a single word splashed across it in blue paint. "Tavern."  
  
The smell of unwashed bodies and pig manure assaulted Legolas's senses as he crossed the threshold of the tavern. It was a dingy little place, but warm in the chill of the night. The men drinking and laughing were haggard and plain, but well fed. Legolas stood scanning the room, fully aware he had drawn the attention of everyone there. Just as an eerie silence began to build around him, Legolas saw her.  
  
Moraelin sat at a table in the corner. She was leaning back in a chair, a contented smile on her face as she listened to a Ranger's tale. She burst out laughing at something that was said, and leaned forward to reach for her ale as Legolas's piercing blue gaze fell upon her.  
  
Moraelin stopped with the mug halfway to her lips, her dark eyes meeting his calmly, as if even after centuries of separation, she had expected to see him there. She slowly set down her mug and her gaze dropped to the scuffed tabletop. Her companions were eyeing her curiously now, and then looking up at the glowing elf archer who strode through the crowd toward her. As he came to stand directly in front of her table, still Moraelin did not look up, her black lashes cast down over her eyes.  
  
"Moraelin," Legolas said quietly.  
  
Finally, she raised her head, and the carefully crafted composure on her face stunned him. A smile formed on her lips but never reached her eyes.  
  
"Highness. You are far from Mirkwood. To what do we owe this great honor?"  
  
"I must speak with you, Moraelin." Legolas ground his jaw, uncomfortable with the eyes of the Rangers trained suspiciously on him.  
  
Moraelin's cold grin only grew and she sat back carelessly. "Surely whatever you have to tell me can be said in front of my friends."  
  
"Please, Moraelin." A hint of desperation had crept into his voice, "There is something very serious we must speak of. Captain Talendil is in grave danger."  
  
"Captain? Captain Talendil," Moraelin chuckled incredulously. Her eyes suddenly turned steely as she scowled up at him. "How long did it take for your father to promote him to captain? Two, three hours after I was gone? Or did he wait a few days, so it wouldn't be so obvious that that was Talendil's reward for getting rid of me?"  
  
Legolas nearly flinched at his foolish slip. He just stared back at her, his face devoid of feeling. For several seconds they watched each other, a silent war of wills being waged amid the pipesmoke and the lazy buzzing of flies. Finally, Moraelin sighed.  
  
"All right, we will talk." As she rose from her chair, the green- eyed, grizzled Ranger at her side caught her sleeve.  
  
"Will you be all right, Moraelin," he asked, his intelligent gaze full of concern for his friend.  
  
"I'll be fine," she said, addressing the whole table, "Order me another drink will you? This shouldn't take long."  
  
She marched toward the door, not looking back to see if Legolas followed her. Legolas clenched his hands into tight fists for a moment. He had not expected it to be like this. True, she owed his race nothing but her scorn. But, he had never imagined she would look at him as if she felt...nothing.  
  
Legolas, on the other hand, was fighting for control over his rampant emotions. As they slipped through the doors, he thought he caught her scent on the cool night breeze, the distinct sweetness of lilacs. *Impossible* he scoffed *where would she get lilac oil in a place like this.* It then occurred to him that maybe it was not the smell of lilacs that compelled him so much, but her own distinct aura, that he could not separate the two. He wanted to reach out and brush a hand over her shoulder, or crush her to him. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest, the only way he thought he could resist the urge.  
  
Moraelin stood for a moment on the crude wooden porch of the tavern, taking a deep breath of the mountain air and reassembling her mask of confidence. Then, she turned to Legolas, a smirk turning up her lip just slightly. She leaned back casually on the hitching rail, propped up by her elbows. He said nothing, he just stared at her with those dangerous blue eyes. He was in front of a grimy window, his broad shoulders blocking most of the light as he stood with his arms crossed and his body held stiffly. The orange glow spilling out behind him cast his face in shadow. But, Moraelin would swear those hypnotic eyes were shining with their own icy light, trying to strip bare her protective layer of indifference. She looked away, casting her eyes to the upper level of the inn, pretending to find something very interesting to watch in the second floor window.  
  
Legolas saw the slight arrogance with which she stood as she was bathed in the fiery glow from within the inn. Her rough garments were similar to those that the Dunedain wore, dark and utilitarian. The clothes could not fully hide her short frame, which was small but powerful. Her dark hair was still in the style of the woodland elves, half pulled back, with small braids tucked behind her gracefully pointed ears. He glanced at her ears, a glint of metal catching his eye. In each ear, a small gold hook had been forced through near the top with two delicate chains dangling from it. *She has changed.* He thought sadly, but knew he should have expected no less. They had both been through so much over the years, he wondered how different he appeared to her eyes. A horse that was tied to the other side of the rail edged his way over to Moraelin, rubbing his nose against her neck. Moraelin giggled for a moment, turning to brush a small hand over the blaze on his forehead. She murmured something to the animal, a gentle smile stealing across her face. She hopped up onto the rail so that she might rub the mangy-looking animal as she watched Legolas cautiously.  
  
"You always did have a way with horses," he said on a near whisper, one corner of his mouth lifting in a tiny grin. *Maybe there are some things that never change,* he thought, his eyes finally softening.  
  
Moraelin could feel the pull of that smile, she remembered how many times she had been charmed into doing something for Legolas by it. She would not fall for it tonight. She set her jaw, her chin lifting a notch. "What do you want, Legolas?"  
  
The smile dropped quickly from Legolas's lips and he narrowed his eyes. "Your brother needs your help."  
  
Moraelin simply shook her head, denial and hurt etched on her features. She jumped down from the rail and made to go back into the tavern, refusing to look up at Legolas.  
  
"Moraelin, wait," he said, catching her by her arm. She gasped slightly, glancing down at his graceful hand where it grasped her, "Please, you must hear me out."  
  
The girl's face contorted in pain, but her voice was harsh with barely contained anger. "The only thing I wish to hear about my brother is that he is sorry. If you are not here to deliver an apology then I don't want to hear it."  
  
She wrenched her arm from his grip and moved toward the door again. Legolas's voice followed her, his heartfelt words ringing down the silent street, "Talendil's army engaged a band of Dwarves living in the mountains. Talendil was captured and is held in the mines. He will not survive long underground, and unless you speak with them, he will die. He made a mistake in betraying you, but if you ever loved him, even when we were children, then you cannot just leave him there. Please, Moraelin."  
  
She had stopped with her hand halfway to the doorknob. She did not turn, but listened to Legolas's plea as she faced the heavy wooden door. She closed her eyes for a moment, daring to think of her brother. She had banished all memories of him from her mind long ago, for they hurt her too deeply. Now, Legolas's words cut to her very soul. He was right; she could not just leave Talendil to wither in the caves.  
  
Moraelin turned slowly to face Legolas. Her carefully crafted mask was now gone, and raw emotion shined in her eyes. She nodded once. Legolas smiled sadly and dared approach her. "Moraelin," he whispered, brushing his knuckles along her cheekbone, "I'm sorry to bring these sorrows upon you."  
  
"No, Legolas," Moraelin replied, her voice tired and resigned, "This is not your fault. I do not blame you for coming here. You are a good friend to my brother to do this for his sake." They stared at each other for a few moments as a coyote howled and yipped far in the distance. To Legolas's surprise, Moraelin's face broke into a stunning smile and she laughed suddenly, "It is good to see you Legolas. I have missed you and your mother terribly."  
  
His face darkened, "Then you should have come home." The words came out sharper than he intended, and he regretted them immediately.  
  
Moraelin just shook her head, taking a step away from him. "There are arrangements I need to make. And you look like you could use a bath."  
  
Legolas grinned sheepishly, "Yes, I suppose I do."  
  
"I'll see what I can do. Come, you can meet my friends. I am sure they would like to meet the famous elf warrior that fought at Elessar's side."  
  
Legolas felt his body relax, some of his tension melting away on a slow sigh. He had found Moraelin, and she had agreed to return to Mirkwood with him. That much of his task was accomplished, and he had never truly believed he would get that far. His eyes were alight with relief. "Lead on, Moraelin." 


	5. Haunted

Disclaimer: Refer to chapter 1.  
  
A/N: Again, thank you so much to all those taking the time to read my story!!  
  
Moraelin and Legolas had conversed with the Rangers for a short time that night, before she secured a room at the inn for the elf. She also asked for a tub to be delivered to his room. She knew the tub they had resembled a horse trough in design and she chuckled to think of Mirkwood's high prince dealing with such primitive lodgings.  
  
The laughter died in Moraelin's throat as she looked around her own lonely room. She usually slept in the hills, for she had only the meager coins she got for game and furs she sold in the village. But, because Aldruid had come to see her, she had gotten a room for the week. Her heart now longed for the calling of owls and the comforting glow of the stars as she sat slowly on the edge of the straw mattress, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. The room seemed small and stuffy, lit only by a flickering candle burned down to a misshapen mass of wax. Moraelin buried her head in her hands, her fingers splayed through her thick black hair. She heaved out a deep sigh as the reality of what had happened finally crashed down upon her.  
  
Legolas. Seeing him in the doorway, more beautiful and proud than she had ever remembered, shining with a mysterious silver light to rival the moon itself had halted her heart mid-beat. She had long dreamed of what it might be like to see him again, wondered if she would jump into his arms or turn and flee from him. But, never had she imagined it would be like it had been this night, that time would seem to slow and stop, and all would drop away around her except those impossibly deep blue eyes. Though she fought it, her rebellious mind turned to memories of Legolas. Moraelin curled into a ball on her side, hoping she could sleep. But, the scenes kept parading through her mind. It had been during Mirkwood's Spring Festival, when she was just a small girl...  
  
Moraelin's small feet picked a path over the cool grass as she followed the smell of cooking meat and the trilling tones of upbeat music. She could see the white light of many lamps filtering through the leaves from the front yard of the palace grounds. As Moraelin drew closer, she could smell wine and spicy dishes, and the smoke from sweetly scented candles. Large ferns grew profusely under the huge, noble trees and Moraelin stooped under their sweeping fronds. She crawled forward on her hands and knees, not noticing the dark soil that was ground into her dress.  
  
Her father had made her promise him that she would not go to the palace and that she would stay near their home for a few days. She did not understand why she was to stay out of sight. She had watched sadly from her window as Eregos, Ilianel, and Talendil had left the house at nightfall dressed in their very finest clothes. The elf maiden that had reluctantly agreed to watch Moraelin during the festivities had snuck out when the girl pretended to sleep, and Moraelin made her own escape soon after. She knew not what else to do, she had to know what secret was being kept from her at the palace.  
  
She heard the voices of many elves, all talking cheerily or laughing. When Moraelin finally reached the edge of clearing that faced the palace, she sat back on her heels and bobbed her head, trying to find a good view without revealing herself. Between the concealing leaves, Moraelin caught glimpses of an immense crowd of elves clad in fine clothes. The women all wore shimmering, gauzy dresses of the like Moraelin had never before seen. Her eyes widened and she smiled at the splendor before her. Growing bolder, she pushed one of the fronds aside with a tiny hand. She spotted the King and Queen sitting at the far side of the dance floor in large wooden chairs set upon a platform. They were talking quietly to one another and a rare smile broke across King Thranduil's stern face.  
  
For a second, Moraelin was almost swept up in the exuberance of the celebration and had to fight the urge to rush between the dancing adults to Queen Myallore. The queen had always been kinder to her than even her father's young wife. Moraelin hung back, though she wanted nothing more than to approach the King and Queen now while Thranduil was in a good humor. She wished just once for the King to look at her with something other than silent contempt in his eyes.  
  
Moraelin's brown eyes were drawn to another group that stood near the thrones. Her face fell as she recognized them as her own family. She stared at them, her father and stepmother standing very close, with Talendil in front of them. Her father's hands were resting on Talendil's thin shoulders, as if he wanted there to be no doubt that the handsome elf child was his son. The three of them made a perfect picture of an elf family, with their fine blond hair shimmering in the lamplight and their matching blue eyes full of contentment as they watched couples dancing to the cheerful flute music. They were all so beautiful together, as was every elf in that field.  
  
Moraelin's eyes filled with hopeless tears. She knew then why she had been asked to stay at home. She did not belong with the three of them, nor with any of the glowing creatures before her. She would never fit into that ideal portrait the rest of her family made. She was about to turn aside and return to the sanctuary of her home, when she spotted one last familiar face.  
  
A young elf boy at the other side of the dance floor had broken away from a group of youths, and to Moraelin's horror was staring right back at her. A grin filled his flawless face as he wove through the adults toward her. Moraelin turned and scurried through the undergrowth away from the celebration.  
  
Moraelin rose and was ready to break into a run when a hand closed around her arm. She turned back quickly and hissed, "Legolas, I must go."  
  
He frowned, hurt filling his features, "Moraelin, I've been looking for you all night, why are you not with your family? Come back with me, the Swan Feather Dance will start soon. We can watch it together."  
  
Moraelin shook her head emphatically, "No, Legolas, I must leave. No one can know I was here, especially not my father or your father."  
  
Legolas looked in her teary eyes, and searched her horrified face in confusion. She tore her arm from his grip and made to bolt. But, Legolas grabbed her again,  
  
"Moraelin, wait," he smiled winningly, hoping to chase away his friend's tears, "Wait here. They have plum cakes. I could bring you some. You always liked those didn't you? And, Lord Glorfindel brought something called 'chocolate' from Imladris, you must try it."  
  
Moraelin had stopped struggling and was looking up at him with an expression of reluctant wonder.  
  
"I won't tell anyone you are here, all right," Legolas whispered gently.  
  
Slowly, Moraelin nodded in agreement. Legolas stared at her for another second, then turned and ran back to the merriment. He did not understand why Moraelin was hiding in the shadows or what she was so afraid of. The Spring Festival was held only once every five years and Legolas didn't think he'd ever had such fun in all his young life. He did not know why Moraelin was not allowed to enjoy it too.  
  
Moraelin tiptoed over to a large birch tree and leaned against its trunk. She turned to face the tree and very carefully peered around it to the palace grounds. She saw Legolas's small blond head pop up next to several refreshment tables. Moraelin grinned as she watched him. Legolas always knew just what to do to make things all right.  
  
Legolas soon returned with a heaping plate of treats. Moraelin's previous sadness was quickly banished as she gazed upon the delicacies before her. She and Legolas sat cross-legged at the foot of the tree with the platter between them. She thanked Legolas around a mouthful of plum cake and he laughed at the blob of jelly on the side of her mouth.  
  
"You have to watch the Swan Feather Dance. Mother told me about it. She said her and Father used to compete in it and-"  
  
Moraelin and Legolas froze as a harsh voice piped up from near them, "I should have known you would be here with the half-elf." Moraelin winced at the label that was becoming more and more familiar. The speaker was an older elf child named Medeldir, the son of a commander. Legolas shot to his feet, "Do not call Moraelin that."  
  
Medeldir just laughed, "But that is what she is. I heard my parents speaking of her, saying that she is half elf, half dirty, savage dwarf. I also heard the king tell my father that he would be keeping her out of sight until the guests were gone. He said he did not want word getting out that he had allowed an abomination like her to live."  
  
Legolas's face turned a deep red, he could feel the heat spreading over his skin. His fury was fed by the sound of Moraelin sobbing softly at his feet. Legolas's hands convulsed into fists. In a sudden burst of motion, Legolas flew at the other boy. His shoulder rammed into Medeldir's middle, driving him backwards. The children collapsed in a pile of flailing arms. Legolas came out on top and began slamming his small fist into Medeldir's face. Medeldir kicked Legolas off of him and rolled over. Grabbing Legolas by the collar, he backhanded the much smaller elfling. The loud crack of the impact dragged Moraelin out of her momentary shock.  
  
With a wild shriek, Moraelin launched herself at Medeldir, wrapping her arms and legs around his back to keep him from hitting Legolas again. But, he quickly shook the girl off of him and went for Legolas. The prince had taken the chance to regroup and tackled Medeldir again. Moraelin now grabbed Legolas's arms, trying to pull him off the other boy, "Legolas, stop!" she cried, "You've both got to stop!"  
  
Moraelin did not even notice that the last few moments of rolling and tussling had brought the three of them to the very edge of the dance floor. Several elves stopped dancing and stared in bewilderment at the brawling children. Moraelin was still tugging on Legolas's arm with desperate tears in her eyes as Thranduil and Lord Glorfindel reached them. They tore the two boys apart, Thranduil already scolding his son for partaking in such foolishness.  
  
Lord Glorfindel wrapped a strong arm around the older boy's waist and pulled him a few feet away. As Glorfindel finally released Medeldir, he looked down at the third child. He frowned curiously at her.  
  
She was short and her coloring was strangely dark. Glorfindel glanced at her faded blue dress, which was torn and muddy. Leaves were stuck in her unruly black hair. Glorfindel had never seen anyone like her, especially her deep brown eyes, which he had not seen on an elf in many years. They made him think momentarily of Maeglin, the dark elf who had betrayed Gondolin, and he felt a shudder run up his spine at the memory.  
  
Suddenly, she looked up and saw the elf lord studying her in open puzzlement. Her eyes filled with abject terror as they met his. She dashed away, her tiny form soon swallowed up by the depths of the forest, and Glorfindel was left to wonder if he had really seen her.  
  
Moraelin's father, having spotted his daughter in the fray near the beverage table, let out a deep groan. He ran to the small crowd gathered there just in time to see Moraelin whipping through the fern fronds, her bare feet pounding lightly on the forest floor. He stopped by Thranduil's side and the king whispered to him, "I told you to keep her out of sight,"  
  
"Then it is true," Legolas screamed. His shoulders were still in his father's steely grip, but he twisted around to look up at him, "You did want to keep Moraelin a secret, didn't you?"  
  
Though for a second Legolas spotted genuine regret in his father's eyes, he heard, "You are in enough trouble already, Legolas. I suggest you keep quiet."  
  
Glorfindel looked at Eregos. The captain stared with a pained and uncertain expression at the still waving fronds where the girl had disappeared.  
  
"Eregos, who was that?" Glorfindel asked.  
  
Mirkwood's high captain closed his eyes for a moment, and then faced Glorfindel.  
  
"That was my daughter, Moraelin," he admitted flatly.  
  
"Eregos, don't-" Thranduil began, but snapped his mouth shut at a warning glance from Eregos.  
  
Despite the dark scowl building on Thranduil's face, Eregos continued, "Her mother was Kirali, daughter of Lord Rinolan of the northern realm of the dwarves. She died in bearing Moraelin."  
  
Glorfindel's surprise was short-lived, and his eyes softened, "She is a beautiful little girl, Eregos. You should not feel you need to hide her."  
  
Thranduil finally cut in, "I fear not everyone would be as understanding as you, Glorfindel."  
  
Glorfindel met Thranduil's blue eyes coldly, "I think they might surprise you, Highness."  
  
Eregos watched the terse exchange with growing concern. Then, he looked down at the young prince. Legolas stared angrily back at him, "How could you do this to Moraelin?" His child's voice rose with indignation, "Don't you know how much it hurts her to know she is different? It isn't her fault!"  
  
Eregos knelt in front of Legolas and squeezed his shoulder. "I am sorry, Legolas," he said with true remorse. The elf then turned and sped through the trees after Moraelin.  
  
Eregos burst into his darkened home, calling Moraelin's name breathlessly. He just hoped she had returned here and had not fled further into the forest where there were countless dangers. He rushed up the stairs, but slowed as he entered Moraelin's room. Eregos had been in countless battles, he had known great pain and watched as comrades died in his arms. But, never in his long life had he felt so wretched, felt such agony in his heart as when he saw his little daughter curled in a ball in the corner, sobbing into her hands.  
  
Eregos crossed the room silently and bent over Moraelin. Her hair, so much like her mother's, was in wild disarray, and Eregos brushed it away from her face. Moraelin peeked up at him, her brown eyes shining with tears.  
  
"I am sorry, Father," she choked out between sobs, "I only wanted to know what was happening outside. I am sorry I let the other elves see me. But, the older boy called me names and Legolas tackled him and then he hit Legolas. I know you are ashamed of me, that is why you do not love me anymore. "  
  
Eregos's own eyes filled with tears as he lifted Moraelin into his arms, "Moraelin, I do love you. I will love you until the stars fade out of the sky."  
  
"But I am the half-elf. I am cursed," Moraelin said, continuing to cry against his neck.  
  
"Who said that you?"  
  
"Medeldir. . .but I've heard other people call me those things before."  
  
"Moraelin," Eregos said as he sat on the bed with Moraelin in his lap, "You are not cursed. That is nonsense; it's superstitious nonsense. I don't want you to listen to people when they say that to you." Eregos sighed and set Moraelin away from him so he could look her in the eye, "But you are only half elf, that is true. I am going to explain something to you and I want you to listen very carefully. All right, little one?" Moraelin nodded shyly.  
  
"Moraelin, your mother was a dwarf. I have told you that before, but I have never told you what that means. I met your mother while I was on patrol. The group of travelers she was with was attacked by orcs and she was hurt. I helped her, and I brought her here. She decided to stay and become my wife. She was so happy and beautiful, just like you," Eregos pinched Moraelin's nose, making her giggle. Even after all these years without Kirali, Eregos still felt his chest constrict as he told his daughter, "But your mama died when you were born, and there was a storm that night. And, a huge fire killed much of the forest. People think because you were born at the same time that a curse follows you now. But, that is foolish. Do not believe in such a thing." Eregos took a deep breath before continuing, "The other thing you must understand is that Dwarves and Elves do not get along very well. They do not usually like each other. So, my marriage to your mother was seen as.strange. And that is why you do not look like your brother. You are half dwarf and there is no one else like you in Mirkwood."  
  
Moraelin's lip quivered at his last words, but Eregos smiled, "That is why you are so special, Moraelin. We all look the same, but you, Moraelin, you stand out, you shine. You are my little star."  
  
Moraelin hugged her father and he gathered her into his embrace again. Eregos sighed shakily, still fighting tears. He hated seeing his daughter in such pain, but he also knew this was only the beginning. Moraelin's life would not be an easy one. Eregos ran a careful hand over her hair. Both of his parents had been healers, and although he had never been anything but a warrior, he had somehow inherited their gift for soothing the wounded with merely a touch. It was not long before Moraelin was sleeping peacefully against him.  
  
Eregos adored his son; Talendil was strong and charismatic, that was clear even though he was very young. But, there was a part of Eregos's heart that would belong only to his eldest child. She was all that remained of Kirali. And, when Kirali had died, Eregos had apprehensively faced the fact that he was all Moraelin had. She would need him to look after her, to shield her as best he could from the prejudices of others. With that thought heavy on his mind, Eregos leaned against the headboard and slipped into a troubled sleep.  
  
When Moraelin next awoke, it was to the sound of urgent whispering, "Moraelin. Wake up, will you? Moraelin!" She sat up, finding her father had gone to his own room to sleep, and Legolas was hauling himself awkwardly into her second story window.  
  
"Come on, Moraelin. I'm not going to let my tyrant father ruin this Spring Festival for the both of us. Let's go."  
  
"How did you get here, Legolas?"  
  
He smiled that charming devil's smile of his, "I snuck out of the palace through the root cellar, then I climbed up the trellis to your room."  
  
"Your face is hurt," Moraelin frowned deeply at him. His upper lip was badly swollen where Medeldir had hit him.  
  
"Mother said it will be all right. Come, we have to go."  
  
"We will just get in more trouble, Legolas."  
  
"Ideally, yes," he said, his smile widening, "Come on, we'll miss the Swan Feather Dance if we do not hurry."  
  
Her tiny face tightened with worry, but finally she sighed. She rose from the bed and went to Legolas. He turned so she could climb onto his back. He then crawled back out the window and shimmied down the trellis as Moraelin clung nervously to him. When they were on the ground, Legolas reached for her hand and they ran together through the darkness.  
  
"What is the Goose Feather Dance?" Moraelin whispered as they slowed to a walk, the dance floor very near. Her hand was still held protectively in Legolas's larger palm.  
  
"Swan Feather. Mother said it is the last event of every Spring Festival and is a dance some couples train for centuries to perfect. Mother and Father used to dance in it and they were very good, but now they just judge it at every Festival. She said if I found a good partner and worked hard, I might dance in it someday too."  
  
The children kneeled among the gnarled roots of an ancient tree, just beyond the ring of light illuminating the dance floor. The ancient tradition of the Swan Feather Dance was held in high regard by all the elves of Mirkwood and beyond, and a great crowd of them surrounded the dance floor to view the event. Legolas and Moraelin, however, were just behind the thrones of the King and Queen, and had a clear view of the dancers.  
  
It was already in progress as they settled in, and Moraelin soon found herself absolutely transfixed by the spectacle before her. The male dancers were dressed in white and silver, with masks of feathers obscuring their faces. Elf maidens in beautiful white dresses accented in delicate swan feathers and sparkling white gems spun around them. And, with a swiftness that took Moraelin's breath away, the male dancers would toss their partner in the air, where the maidens would execute elaborate flips and twists before landing lightly again in his arms. The fluid control of every motion, the flawless coordination of each dancer with his or her partner was like art. Moraelin gasped as one elf maiden was thrown several feet higher than those around her, and Legolas glanced over at her upon hearing the sound. Seeing the awe and joy beaming from her face, he smiled brightly. After what had happened that night, his heart was lightened to see true happiness on the girl's face again.  
  
All too quickly, each pair did one more spectacular throw and the music abruptly ended. The dancers stood for a moment, some staring deeply into each other's eyes, the countless feathers on the maiden's dresses still fluttering restlessly. After a moment of silence, a deafening applause rose up from the gathered elves. King Thranduil stood, his eyes soft as he took his wife's arm. They approached a pair of dancers, the male an exceptionally tall Silvan with golden hair and his partner a small elf maiden with a gentle smile. The King and Queen stood before them as quiet fell again. Then, the King did something Legolas had never seen him do before. He dropped to one knee and bowed before the pair. They were the winners, and he honored them humbly. Cheers filled the clearing again and the winning elves thanked the King graciously. They then shared a deep kiss, as elves rushed forward to congratulate them.  
  
Moraelin felt Legolas watching her again. She still felt dazed by the magnificent sight she had just witnessed. She met his blue eyes, and said simply, "I want to do that."  
  
"You do?" Legolas said, cocking his head to the side curiously.  
  
"We should. Oh, Legolas, let me be your partner. We could work every single day. I would work hard, I would learn to do all those things they did...only better. We would do it all better!"  
  
Legolas smiled widely, enjoying the excitement in Moraelin's large eyes. "All right. We will practice. And that will be us someday, Father will be bowing before us."  
  
For years, they had practiced in secret, stealing away into the forest to learn the difficult maneuvers needed for the dance. And, when Legolas had first stepped onto the dance floor of the Spring Festival with his mystery partner, the uproar it caused had bordered on scandal.  
  
Moraelin remembered shuffling her feet uncertainly as everyone around her murmured in anger or shock. She had seen the venomous scowl on the King's face as he saw her. But, she had then dared to glance at her father and her brother where they stood not far away. As she met Eregos's eyes, he smiled at her with obvious pride and love. "You look beautiful," he mouthed to her, and she straightened her back, knowing that it did not matter what other elves said, it did not matter if they lost. Eregos and Legolas cared for her, and at that moment, that was more than enough.  
  
Thranduil had watched the dancing with a brooding frown, determined that Legolas and Moraelin would not be champions. But, they so obviously dominated the other dancers, their moves daring and innovative, that they were victorious beyond any doubt. Legolas had now grown into a fierce warrior, and his quickness and feline grace were fully developed. Moraelin was also trained in the arts of war, giving her agility beyond that of most other female elves. She was compact but exceptionally strong and had no fear of the dangerous throws Legolas challenged her with. When the music stopped, Thranduil rose slowly, his movements as lithe and controlled as those of his son. He approached Moraelin and Legolas and nodded to them, but he refused to bow. As applause built all around them, at first reluctant but soon growing in enthusiasm, Moraelin looked sharply into Thranduil's eyes. It was clear that the girl would not soon forget that affront, and her lip curled into a smirk of supreme confidence. She then turned to Legolas, who lifted her in his arms and swung her around with joy, her black hair flowing in sharp contrast to the white swan feathers nestled in it.  
  
Over four more Spring Festivals, Legolas and Moraelin were triumphant, but Thranduil would never kneel before the girl. For more than twenty years, she and Legolas were the greatest dancers in all the realm. It was not long before she noticed that most of the couples they competed against were husband and wife, that the dance was an expression of the deep love they shared. She knew it was the same for her, but that her's was a doomed love. The Prince of Mirkwood could never truly love a being such as herself, she knew that. But, more and more she stole glances at him as he sparred with other warriors or stood proudly at his father's side. Of course she loved him, he was so easy to fall in love with. But, who was she to desire an elf of such standing?  
  
The last time they danced the Swan Feather Dance, Moraelin stood again before the cold eyes of Thranduil, as Legolas held tightly to her hand. They stayed and received congratulations from those around them, both got a fond kiss on the cheek from Myallore, and finally Legolas pulled Moraelin away, dragging her toward the deeper forest.  
  
"Legolas, where are we going?" she giggled, a giddiness still filling her being at their win. Her father had fallen in battle a few years earlier, and her heart still carried the deep wounds. But, the dance seemed to ease her pain. Everyone expected them to be the best after all these years, but Moraelin still adored the feeling of flying through the sky, knowing the earth no longer bound her to its harsh face. She loved seeing Legolas's beautiful, pure smile shine down upon her as the dance ended. They were far into the trees now, the noise of the festivities a dim hum behind them. She could see the sharp lines of Legolas's face in the moonlight as he stopped and turned to her. He took her other hand in his, and Moraelin's smile faded. Legolas's eyes were burning into hers with some nameless emotion.  
  
"Moraelin," he whispered, brushing a stray piece of hair from her cheek. She stared up at him, her eyes wide with alarm and excitement. As his face descended toward hers, everything within her went very still. She could have never dreamed such a fate might be hers, to receive her first kiss from such a magnificent creature as Legolas. His lips were tentative, moving over hers uncertainly, as he placed a shaking hand on the small of her back. For a moment, Moraelin could do nothing, not even close her eyes. But, as she felt Legolas begin to pull away in disappointment, she broke out of her stupor and quickly gripped the back of his neck. She kissed him back then, with the same reckless passion that she did everything. Just as Legolas tilted his head to deepen the kiss, all juvenile hesitance forgotten, a voice echoed through the trees.  
  
"Legolas! Moraelin! Are you out here?"  
  
The musical sound of Myallore's voice caused the pair to break apart quickly, and Moraelin stepped back so fast she nearly tripped over a tree root. She looked up at him, her eyes shining with vulnerable astonishment.  
  
Breathlessly, Legolas whispered, "We must talk Moraelin... there is something I must speak with you about. But, not now, not here. Father and Talendil have asked me to lead a patrol along the river for a few days, but when I return..."  
  
They had never had that talk. Two days later, Talendil had banished Moraelin from Greenwood. She thought of that kiss often, so brief and yet so meaningful. As she sat alone on a mountainside or huddled shivering next to weathered ruins, she had wondered if Legolas had loved her the way she loved him. She was haunted, tormented by the possibility that they had been so close to finding happiness with each other, only to have it torn away by one cold sentence from Talendil: "You are not wanted here." 


	6. Gift Horse

Legolas stowed his possessions in his room and went now into the chill night to check on his mount. He went lightly down the rickety wooden stairs, and as he turned for the livery stable, a rough voice piped up from behind him.  
  
"She is more fragile than she lets on,"  
  
Legolas started slightly. A slow smile spread across his face as he turned to Aldruid. There were not many mortals who could surprise Mirkwood's Prince, and he looked upon Aragorn's kin with increased respect. Legolas said nothing, just regarded Aldruid carefully where he lurked in the shadows. Aldruid leaned back against the weather-beaten wood of the inn, its surface nearly as rugged as the Ranger himself. Nearly.  
  
"What do you want with her?"  
  
The pointed question took Legolas off guard, and he thought carefully before replying. "She is needed in her homeland. Her brother is in danger."  
  
"Homeland?" Aldruid repeated sarcastically, but quickly continued, "I have heard talk of Mirkwood's legendary Captain Talendil in Gondor's court. What has happened to him?"  
  
"He attacked a settlement of Dwarves in the Mountains of Mirkwood. They have taken him prisoner."  
  
"He attacked a Dwarf city, and you come to Moraelin for aid? Surely the irony does not escape you?" Aldruid scoffed.  
  
Legolas gritted his teeth, but said evenly, "I know that I ask a lot of her. I-I thought it might be a mistake coming here but I knew not what else to do. I just want her to speak with them, then she is free to leave."  
  
Aldruid stepped out from the darkness and faced Legolas calmly. When Legolas met his gaze, he was surprised to see in the Ranger's eyes only tired sincerity. "Moraelin has finally found some peace within herself. But, it is dearly bought. It has not been easy for her to put the betrayals of her past behind her, but I can see that finally they pain her no longer. Now you ride into town and shake the very foundations of what Moraelin has worked to build. I want to know that you will be keeping her best interests foremost on your mind. I would not see her mistreated at the hands of your kind again."  
  
Legolas regarded Aldruid curiously. Surely it was the longest string of words he had ever heard a Ranger utter. He blinked a few times, then finally said, "I will watch over Moraelin. I swore to that . . . long ago. I will hold to my word."  
  
Aldruid nodded shortly. Legolas turned away, moving again to the stables. But, he halted suddenly and turned back to Aldruid, "Oh, and what you said, about Moraelin being fragile? I don't believe it for a second. If she is still the girl I knew, she is stronger than you and I combined."  
  
Aldruid's scruffy upper lip twisted into a mischievous half smile. He nodded slowly, a chuckle rippling through the air. "Somehow, I think it would please Moraelin to hear you say that."  
  
Aldruid watched the elf for a moment longer, sizing up the prince. He sensed Legolas was genuine in what he said, that he truly wanted no harm to befall Moraelin. But, Aldruid had learned that trouble tended to follow the half-elf, and no matter how she tried to hide from it, always it found her.  
  
The steps creaked in protest as Aldruid climbed them wearily. He stood for a moment on the terrace, his calloused hands coming to rest on the railing that edged it. He looked out over the sleeping village, feeling the imposing silence surround him like a cloud. Even the nearly imperceptible footfalls of the elf had faded down the street. Aldruid thought of all the nights he had looked out over this valley in the gathering dark, listening to the spring cacophony of chirping frogs rising up from the marsh or the bone-chilling howl of wargs echoing over the winter snow. Now, he heard nothing. After several years of life in Minas Tirith, the silence was beautiful. It was no place for a man such as himself, Aldruid knew, to live in a bustling city, closed in by too many bodies around him. It was good to come back here, not just to see Moraelin, which lightened his heart more than she could ever know, but also to escape to the life that had once been his. He had prestige, comfort, and companionship in Minas Tirith. But, silence? That was a rare commodity.  
  
He could also remember going hunting in the hills with Moraelin, how they could go for hours without speaking. With no other person had he ever had such comfortable silence. It would become nearly a tangible thing, but not obtrusive, more like a third traveling companion that walked the grassy trails beside them. He thought this was possible because both of them had spent so much time alone, wandering the lifeless expanses of these lands. So, when they were brought together, they knew the value of quiet, of letting the winds and the land itself whisper to them.  
  
A damp gust of wind caught a strand of Aldruid's straight black hair and twirled it into his face. He brushed it away and shuffled along the walkway to his own door. He stared at it for a moment, and slowly, his head turned. He looked down at the other silent doors. Before this night ended, there was one more conversation he had to have.  
  
* * *  
  
Moraelin was shaken from her melancholy memories by a light tapping on her door. She sat up quickly, the straw mattress crunching beneath her at the sudden motion.  
  
"Come in," she called, rubbing her tired eyes and taking a deep breath.  
  
The door opened slowly, and Aldruid stood on her threshold. He seemed darker and older somehow, his brow was furrowed with some unpleasant emotion. He moved silently into the room, his tall form wrapped in a rough black cloak and his unshaven jaw set firmly. For a moment, Moraelin contemplated how intimidating he must be to those who did not know him. But, as she looked into his eyes, always gentle and calm, she knew there was nothing to fear from him. He sat next to her on the bed, watching her carefully. Finally, his gravelly voice asked, "Are you all right, Mora?"  
  
She sighed and looked away, "I'm fine."  
  
Aldruid placed a comforting hand on her back, "You are not. You can't fool me."  
  
Moraelin laughed dryly, "I suppose I can't."  
  
"It pains you to see him again?" Aldruid's green gaze still rested on her, but she could not return his look.  
  
Moraelin's voice had dropped to a brittle whisper as she replied, "Yes . . .I thought I had banished him from my mind. I thought my old life could not harm me any longer."  
  
"No one can forget where they came from, it makes us who we are." Aldruid murmured sagely.  
  
"I suppose that is true," she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and bowing her head, "I knew my past would catch up with me someday. I fear I do not have the strength to turn and face it. I just didn't expect it would be him, I didn't expect to see Legolas himself after all these years."  
  
"Aragorn trusts this elf, so I should too. He did a great service to us all in helping the Ring-Bearer. But, if he hurts you I will break his knees."  
  
Moraelin threw her head back in laughter, finally meeting her friend's eyes. "You can't imagine how I miss you now that you have settled in Minas Tirith. You always know just what to say. I regret that our visit will be cut short this year."  
  
"It's all right. I just want to know that you will be careful."  
  
Moraelin nodded, smiling at Aldruid as he rose. He turned to grip her shoulder reassuringly, "I know your brother caused you great pain in the past, but it is a testament to your character that you do not turn your back on him now. Be happy. Just promise me that."  
  
Moraelin nodded, tears gathering in her eyes as she looked up at him. She reached up to squeeze his hand where it still rested on her shoulder. A rare smile stole across Aldruid's face as he loomed over this girl who had stood at his side for almost half of his life. And then he was gone, he had slipped away into the night like he had been formed from a piece of it.  
  
A smile still lingering on her lips, Moraelin untied her boots and started to settle in for bed. Finally, she felt calm enough to sleep. She was comforted to know that whatever heartache awaited her under the sheltering trees of Mirkwood, she could always return to this valley and the Dunedain for comfort. Unlike the land of her birth, these things had never failed her.  
  
* * *  
  
Moraelin had used what little money she had left to procure some provisions for their journey at the village mercantile . . . which incidentally was also the tavern, inn, meeting hall, and butcher shop for all of Dreary Vale. She had said her good-byes to the Rangers, but as she and Legolas wove around a mud puddle that spanned most of the crude street, Moraelin saw Aldruid approaching. He walked with an unhurried confidence that she had observed most of the Dunedain maintained. He followed them into the livery stable, his wrist propped casually on his sword hilt as if he were simply joining them on a Sunday stroll, not on the advent of a dangerous voyage. Moraelin eyed him for a perplexed moment. She then hooked her booted foot over the bottom rail of the slatted wooden fence and hoisted herself up to watch Legolas retrieve his mount.  
  
"Need a boost there, Tiny?" Aldruid asked as he easily draped his forearms over the gate.  
  
Moraelin sent him a withering look, "You seem in a good humor this morn. Are you that glad to be getting rid of me?"  
  
He cocked an eyebrow and said nothing, causing Moraelin's look to darken further. She turned away from the smug man as Legolas led his horse forward, a magnificent black gelding with a black and white mane, and a snow-white tail. The animal was obviously of the best breeding; Thranduil would provide his heir with no less. Moraelin frowned, but straightened her spine with stubborn pride as she called out for Rock.  
  
Aldruid's growl of displeasure did not go unnoticed, by her or the horse. Rock seemed to sneer at the Ranger, stretching his neck to nip at him before being stopped by Moraelin. She yanked the horse's head around and dragged the animal through the gate and away from Aldruid to saddle him.  
  
"I would swear that animal was bred in the stables of the Dark Lord himself." Aldruid said, addressing Legolas with a sympathetic shake of his head, "You be careful of that one, your Highness, he is as mean as a warg to anyone but Moraelin. Where did you find him anyway? A horse auction in Mordor perhaps? Or did you buy him off a passing Ringwraith?"  
  
Moraelin cast a scathing look at the Ranger. "Certainly not. He was a gift from a grateful family in the next valley. I saved their young son from a troll. I tried to refuse, but they insisted."  
  
"You should have tried harder. But, you know what they say, do not look a gift horse in the mouth. Or in the case of this beast, do not look at any part of him. I fear you simply got this cast-off runt because they did not want to have to feed the accursed thing anymore. Not to say your deed was not heroic but..."  
  
"This is a perfectly fine horse," Moraelin ground out, enduring Aldruid's teasing as best she could.  
  
Legolas let out a snort of laughter, only to earn a scowl from Moraelin. He went quickly back to smoothing his saddle blanket, not wishing her to turn her ire on him. But, by the Valar, it was the ugliest horse he'd ever seen. It had a short misshapen face, was missing part of its left ear, and though it was apparent Moraelin tried to care for his coat, the animal had a distinctly flea-bitten look. Strangely, the horse's wild, brutish eyes lost some of their fury as Moraelin brushed him lovingly. Rock turned to nuzzle Moraelin, and she hugged him around his thick, scarred neck, burying her face in his fur.  
  
Aldruid's dry voice reached her from the other side of her mount, "The other problem with Rock is that he is a prolific breeder. No fence or structure is able to keep him away. And, the foals in this valley get uglier and nastier with every passing spring."  
  
"And they get tougher and stronger as well. I should start collecting stud fees for the service Rock provides."  
  
Aldruid chuckled, "Stud fees? You're lucky you haven't been run out of town with all the disgruntled farmers you have left in your wake. As I remember it, Arlan was ready to turn you on a spit when his prize mare dropped a hideous black colt bearing a striking resemblance to this beast."  
  
Moraelin pursed her lips in annoyance, but her eyes danced with barely contained laughter. She had been defeated and she knew it. "I do not have time to stand around and take this abuse from you, Lord Aldruid. We've a long journey ahead of us."  
  
Aldruid's face softened. "You know I jest." He watched as Legolas mounted his fine horse and then cast his sad eyes at Moraelin. It was time for her to go.  
  
Aldruid took a step closer to Moraelin, "You remember what I told you, Mora."  
  
"I will." She grinned, punching his arm playfully, "Smile, old man. Do not act as if we will never see each other again. I expect to see you here next spring as soon as the pass opens. I will be here waiting, like I am every year."  
  
Aldruid's mouth rose in a reluctant smile. He wished he could believe her, but somehow he felt that one year from now, much would have changed.  
  
"Of course you will be," he whispered indulgently, "Until then, Mora."  
  
"Until then,"  
  
In an uncharacteristic show of emotion, Aldruid stepped forward and pulled Moraelin into his arms. He lifted her small body off the ground in his warm embrace, and Moraelin squeezed his neck tightly as her eyes burned with restrained tears. "Take care of yourself, Aldruid," she whispered as she pressed her face into his neck.  
  
"You too."  
  
He set her gently onto the straw-littered floor of the stable, his weathered face tender. He turned then and left them, returning to the tavern and the rest of his men.  
  
Legolas had watched the exchange with extreme curiosity, and had felt his eyes narrow each time Aldruid called her "Mora." Legolas had no right to feel jealous of the Ranger, it was apparent the man had taken care of Moraelin, something Legolas himself could no longer claim. He heard Moraelin's shaky sigh as she climbed atop her horse. He smiled reassuringly at Moraelin, but in return she could only manage a weak, unconvincing grin. As Legolas watched, her face changed, hardened once again. The smile dropped from her face like the slow falling of twilight, and without a word, she jerked Rock's head around and turned for the road. 


	7. Storm Clouds

Disclaimer: See Chapter One  
  
Thanks to all who are sticking with this, I'm having a lot of fun working on it. There should be more action coming up soon, I hope you like it!!  
  
* * * * * *  
  
Chapter 7: Storm Clouds  
  
Moraelin worked her way down the street, Rock prancing a little, so eager was he to get out of town. As Legolas rode up beside her, Moraelin did not look at him, but simply said, "There is a way through the mountains that not many know. It will save us several days compared to taking High Pass. But, we must cross a canyon that has mudslides in the spring. It is possible we will still have to turn back and take the Beorning's pass."  
  
Legolas nodded thoughtfully, "I suppose you know these lands well. You have stayed here long?"  
  
"Several years," Moraelin replied, squinting at the horizon as the sun broke over the mountaintops, "I like it here. It is simple, constant. Change comes very slowly here."  
  
She finally glanced over at Legolas, "You did not meet any trouble on your way?"  
  
"Trouble?" Legolas asked with a frown.  
  
Moraelin's face darkened, "All change comes more slowly here, including change for the better. Though creatures of darkness have been destroyed in most realms, there are orcs and wargs that still wander in these valleys. They are without leadership and roam aimlessly, but they are no less dangerous for it. That is why some Rangers still linger here, they do not want to leave these people defenseless."  
  
They were silent, until a wistful smile crossed Moraelin's lips, "The Dunedain are an incredible people. It does my heart good to see them receiving the respect they deserve. Since Aragorn came to power, the farmers of this valley have finally seen the Rangers in their true light. They have waited overlong to escape suspicion and disdain."  
  
"You have known Aldruid long?" Legolas asked, trying not to seem especially interested.  
  
Moraelin laughed softly, "Since he was but a raw young warrior. Estel as well."  
  
Legolas glanced over at her in surprise, "You know Aragorn?"  
  
"Yes, I," she paused, clearing her throat, "I stayed in Rivendell for a time. I got to know him then."  
  
Legolas frowned, thinking back to Elrohir's earlier words. She had been injured and brought to Elrond's home, and he wondered what had happened. The rigid set of her face made it clear that she did not wish to speak of it further.  
  
Moraelin could feel Legolas's eyes on her and stared determinedly forward, slightly unnerved by his attention.  
  
"Whose idea was it to attack the Dwarves?" Moraelin asked.  
  
Legolas opened his mouth for a stunned second, the directness of her question surprising him. "Talendil. Father and the Council were furious when word reached them about what he had done."  
  
"You're sure your father had nothing to do with it? He has no great love for Dwarves."  
  
"Father was as surprised as anyone else," Legolas insisted, but the smirk on Moraelin's face showed she was not convinced.  
  
"What makes you think I will be of any help? There is no reason for anyone to listen to me, not your father or the Dwarves." Moraelin looked at him, her face blank as she stated, "I am no one."  
  
"You share the blood of both sides, which is more than any of us can claim. And, your grandfather is a powerful Dwarf chieftain."  
  
"He is a chieftain, yes. Of a very humble settlement in the Grey Mountains. He is respected in his own realm, but he is not from a high bloodline." She sighed lightly, "You have to understand, Legolas, my people have been expelled from every place they've ever settled. For centuries they have wandered, unable to get a foothold somewhere that they might try to rebuild a great city like those of old. Power, respect, can be very fleeting things for our leaders, and are held only so long as one is strong enough to defend them. Change is coming though. I have heard about the renewal of Erebor, and the Dwarves settling in the Glittering Caves. Rumors had reached us of Dwarves in the Mountains of Mirkwood. I had wondered how you father would react to that."  
  
"He was not pleased," Legolas replied hesitantly, "but he did not order the attack."  
  
Moraelin studied the battered leather of her reins and smiled acerbically to herself, "Did it ever occur to you that you will take me back to a land that hates me only to find that there is nothing I can do to help you?"  
  
"No," Legolas said, his confidence unwavering as he met her eyes, "You will do well, I am sure."  
  
Moraelin chuckled, lifting an eyebrow in amazement. With a shake of her head she replied, "Well, as long as you're sure. Who am I to argue?"  
  
"My thoughts exactly," Legolas replied with a haughty twist of his lips.  
  
Moraelin felt her face soften, knowing that his arrogance was an act put on purely for her amusement. She bent to rub Rock's neck briskly, "Elves and their fool ideas, eh Rocky? I'll never understand them."  
  
* * * *  
  
A quiet had settled over the pair for a few hours as they crossed the wide valley. Only the creaking of their saddles and the cries of birds overhead broke into their silent musings. Several times that morning, Moraelin resisted the urge to twist around and look at the village once more. She did not know what it was she feared leaving behind, the comforting regularity of Dreary Vale, or the presence of Aldruid and the rest of her friends at her side. She knew that both losses weighed heavily in her heart. Part of her wanted to turn her horse around now and go back, before it was too late and she was miles into the mountains with this elf she barely knew.  
  
And yet, she knew him, she knew him as well as she knew herself. At least, she knew him as he had once been, when he was an eager young fighter impatient for his first taste of adulthood. How he had dreamed of gaining reknown, becoming great in the eyes of all the realms. Talendil had harbored a similar hope, but somehow his vision was darker, more ruthless. It was the bright idealism with which Legolas imagined his future glory that had always drawn Moraelin in. He had told her of those dreams for years, never doubting they would come true. It would appear he had gotten his wish, his name was uttered in all corners of Middle Earth. But, as she watched his slim form swaying easily in the saddle out of the corner of one dark eye, she wondered if getting his dream had been as sweet as he had so desperately imagined. If there was one thing she had learned during her difficult life, it was that nothing came without a price.  
  
The farms had thinned out as they neared the canyon at the far end of the plain, and Legolas watched closely the trees and low shrubs along the stream. He was more wary after hearing Moraelin talk of fell beasts still lurking in these lands, and knew that the narrow canyon would be an ideal place for an ambush. For the past few years, there had been no one to fight, no spiders in the depths of the forest, no goblins in the caves. Legolas wondered if he might have gone soft in this time. He practiced with his bow nearly every morning, but it seemed the most dangerous weapon he had wielded of late was a hammer.  
  
The high walls of the canyon soon rose on either side of them, but did not block out the sun. A heavy bank of clouds had already obscured its rays. Moraelin looked up to the sky with narrowed eyes, but said nothing. The dark clouds thickened as they rode on, and the air turned strangely still. The quiet was broken as Rock grunted, stopping to paw the ground and toss his head unhappily. Moraelin sat up very straight in the saddle, and to Legolas's astonishment, began sniffing the air like a beast of the forest.  
  
"Orcs," she said, settling back, "And they're close. Come on."  
  
She kicked Rock's sides and he gladly galloped up a slight hillside to a cluster of large stones in front of the sheer rock of the canyon wall. Legolas followed, the eyes of his own horse now wide and wild. It would appear Embryn could smell it too, although Legolas's nose read nothing abnormal on the air. He dismounted and pulled Embryn out of sight. He saw Moraelin had already led Rock behind the protective screen of boulders and was rubbing his face gently, murmuring to him in a strange tongue,  
  
"Arac nul casal. Nul canash merik. Nul canash."  
  
"What do you say to him?" Legolas whispered.  
  
"Just gibberish in Southron. I picked up a little of it in my travels. The sound of that language seems to soothe him, I don't know why."  
  
Legolas bit back a snide comment about the calming effect one of the dark tongues had on the ornery steed, instead glancing around the rock to watch for their mysterious enemy.  
  
"Do you see them," Moraelin asked softly.  
  
Legolas strained his eyes down the length of the ravine, and soon spotted a small force of about a dozen orcs coming around a bend. They truly were the most bedraggled orcs he'd ever laid eyes on, surely stragglers that had run from the larger battles that had raged years before. He nodded shortly at Moraelin, and saw that she also peeked around the rocks to watch them. Her eyes hardened as she saw the creatures, a light of mild madness shining in their depths. He watched as her hands convulsed on the rough surface of the stone, her nails grating lightly along it. His brow knitted and he wondered at her reaction. His head shot back around suddenly as she growled, "They have smelled us. We cannot stay here, we might be trapped."  
  
Legolas heard a harsh cry cut through the air, and the orcs started up the incline at a run with ugly, bow-legged strides. He sensed a blur of motion beside him, and before he could stop her, Moraelin had leapt from behind the stones and onto Rock's back. The stocky animal thundered down the hillside toward the orcs, thick clods of dirt thrown into the air by his hooves. "Moraelin, no," Legolas groaned as he scrambled to the top of the boulder. Trying to calm a heart that beat along with the rapid slamming of hooves, he sent his arrows flying toward the orcs, hoping to pick off as many as possible before his unhinged companion reached them. He could not believe Moraelin dared take on so many alone, but as she drew the large battle-axe from her back, the sun broke free from its veil of clouds. The pure light glinted off the finely polished metal of the weapon as Moraelin gripped the sides of her horse with her legs so she could swing with both arms. Legolas could not deny that she did look formidable.  
  
Four orcs lay dead already, white fletched arrows protruding from their bodies as Moraelin and her horse reached them. They cut a wide swath through the group, horse and rider working with a coordination clearly developed over many years. Legolas lowered his arm, he dared not shoot with her in their midst. He could faintly hear her calling out what he could only assume were profanities in Southron. She had hewed down several of her foes before she was grabbed by the leg and torn from her horse's back. She landed hard facedown and skidded through the mud.  
  
Legolas gasped, nocking again and trying to pick a target. He hesitated as he saw Moraelin regain her feet. She turned to the handful of orcs that remained, and to his horror, she walked calmly toward them. For a moment, her stride quickened, and the pair of small tomahawks at her belt appeared in her hands. She was just out of range of their swords when she jumped in the air. She hooked the twin axes on a tree limb above her and swung over it, executing a couple of quick flips in the air that landed her directly behind the orcs. Her axes flashed with calm precision, beheading two before they had time even to turn around. She stopped, her eyes widening in surprise as the remaining orcs dropped dead at her feet in quick succession. She looked beyond them to where Legolas still stood, tall, deadly, his bow held firmly in his hand. She lifted her arm in thanks, her chest heaving with exertion, and a smile cracked her face. Legolas nodded once, leaping lightly to the ground. Moraelin watched him for another moment as he hurried down the hillside to her. He was so graceful, he made everything he did seem effortless and beautiful. She gritted her teeth as she wiped a few stray drops of dark orc blood from her cheek with a muddy hand, which only left her face dirtier. She did not like to think of how uncouth and filthy she must look next to him.  
  
She reached down to tear one of Legolas's arrows out of the chest of a dead orc beside her. For a moment everything around her seemed to drop away, Legolas, the approaching storm, the very act of breathing were forgotten. A pair of glazed, yellow eyes gazed back up at her. Even in the clutch of death, they taunted her, laughed at her as they once had. She let go of the arrow, and lifted a hand to the curve of her jaw, feeling the small knot of bone left by a badly healed break. Legolas's voice drew her out of her stupor, "Moraelin, you should not have gone ahead without me."  
  
She said nothing, but bent again to retrieve his arrow. She very carefully avoided the orc's empty eyes. Moraelin twisted the arrowhead from its body and handed the arrow to Legolas. Approaching another corpse, she said quietly, "There was no time. I could take care of them."  
  
"I do not doubt that, but I hope we can learn to work together on this journey."  
  
Moraelin handed him another arrow, finally lifting her eyes to his. "You're right. I am sorry. Thank you for your help, I see you are still the best shot in Middle Earth."  
  
He grinned evenly, "I do what I can. But, you . . . where did you learn to do that flip? That was quite impressive."  
  
She turned away to scan the scattered boulders and alder brush for her horse. "It was one of our old dance flips, don't you remember? I bet your new partner can't do that one as well as I can."  
  
"It is isn't it?" Legolas said with a chuckle. He sobered quickly, a glimmer of vulnerability in his eyes, "Moraelin," he waited patiently until she looked at him, "There is no other partner. After you left, I never danced again."  
  
Her lips parted in surprise, and she looked to the ground quickly. She knew not what to say, and was relieved as Rock trotted up to her, breaking the sudden tension.  
  
"You clumsy brute, how could you let me get pulled down like that," she scolded the horse lightly, "We're supposed to watch out for each other." She buried a hand in his mane and pressed her forehead against his, "Ah, it's all right Rocky, just don't let it happen again."  
  
Legolas could not stop the fond smile that crossed his face as he watched the affection she bestowed on the hideous horse. Only Moraelin could see the good in such a creature. But, the smile faded as he watched Moraelin's scarred hands. Her fingers were trembling terribly, clutching weakly at the stringy hair of Rock's mane. He noticed for the first time that a few of her fingers were bent in strange places, and old wounds covered them. But, these scars seemed unimportant compared to the shaking of her body.  
  
"Moraelin," he whispered in concern, taking a step toward her.  
  
"We should get going, there could be more nearby. We would do well to avoid them." Moraelin's voice was carefully controlled as she steered the conversation away from herself.  
  
Legolas nodded reluctantly, loping up the hill to fetch his horse. When she was sure he was out of earshot, Moraelin leaned heavily on Rock again. She fought to stop the tremors that racked her body, to control the churning of fury and terror in her mind.  
  
"After all this time, Rocky, I shouldn't react like this. What happened is in the past. But I can feel that one looking at me, even in death. And the smell of them is so strong I want to wretch. It bothers you too, doesn't it?" She stared into his small brown eyes, and in them perceived an intelligence that no one else bothered to look for. The horse nickered and rubbed his nose lightly against her shoulder.  
  
"What would I do without you, eh?" she whispered, "As long as we stick together, they can't hurt us anymore, right old friend?"  
  
Moraelin quieted as Legolas and Embryn galloped up to them. Legolas reined the horse in and waited patiently for her to join them. A gust of wind blew down from the mountains and whistled through the canyon, a mournful sound like the cry of the grieving. A piece of Legolas's pale hair was whipped into his face and Moraelin looked woefully at the blackened sky again. Even nature itself seemed intent on stopping the pair when they had just barely begun. Moraelin swung into the saddle and drove Rock on, hoping to outrun the storm and also to put as much distance as possible between herself and the disturbing, familiar eyes of the orc. 


	8. The Red Wind

Disclaimer: See chapter one.  
  
A/N: Sorry for the long delay, I hope everyone had a wonderful holiday season!  
  
Legolas watched Moraelin carefully as they rode on, and saw that her color soon returned and she seemed just as she had been before. Maybe it was nothing, maybe he had imagined it. A silence had fallen over them again, both horse and rider alert for any sign of danger. But, they continued unchallenged until well after dusk.  
  
Legolas's voice, gruff with lack of use, finally cut through the imposing darkness, "We should let the horses rest, and take a brief respite ourselves."  
  
"Is that pretty horse of yours tired already?" Moraelin teased, and in the blue moonlight Legolas saw the mocking lift of an eyebrow.  
  
Legolas smiled, nodding in reluctant agreement, "I admit I'm beginning to see the advantages of that terrible animal. There seems no end to his energy."  
  
"I'm glad to hear you are warming up to him. Just as Aldruid told you, there are not many who have."  
  
Legolas's easy smile had returned. He trained his sharp eyes on a shelf of land jutting out from the side of the canyon. "Do you think we can get up there to make camp? We will be able to easily spot any danger from that position."  
  
"We could also become trapped up there if we are attacked. But, I must admit I would feel safer there than down here. Let us go."  
  
They dismounted and led their horses up a narrow trail along the rock face that delivered them to the cliff. As Moraelin unsaddled Rock, she sniffed the air. It smelled like rain, the storm that had threatened for most of their journey seemed finally to be upon them. Moments later, she felt a fat, ice cold rain drop impact the top of her head and seep into her hair. She groaned slightly, tossing her hood up over her head and depositing her saddle under a tree. She hunched her shoulders as the clouds above ripped open like an overfilled sack of grain and pummeled the humble travelers with sheets of rain. Moraelin let Rock go, bundling her few possessions under her cloak and next to her body to keep them dry.  
  
Moraelin wandered to the brink of the cliff, staring out over the shadowed ravine as cold raindrops pelted her body. From where Legolas stood a little behind her, he could not see the grim, weary expression on her face. She seemed to feel the elements not at all, though the rain had clearly soaked through all of her layers. "This weather does not bode well for us," she growled, spinning away from the precipice to the meager shelter of the few pine trees. "We should press on, there will be landslides for certain if this rain keeps up."  
  
Legolas followed her, facing the girl as she leaned back against a rough tree trunk. Though her face was impassive, he caught a slight chatter of her mouth from the chilling downpour. "Are you sure you can continue," Legolas asked in concern, wincing as a raindrop splashed into his right eye, "Maybe we would both do well to stay out of the elements tonight."  
  
Moraelin looked up at him, watching water flow in glistening rivulets down his angular face. Suddenly, she grinned, but as he had learned was often the case, the expression did not warm her eyes.  
  
"Leave it to my brother to be captured during the height of the rainy season, eh? I must admit I am not surprised." Moraelin's head fell back against the solid support of the tree. "You are right, Legolas. We will just have to hope this lets up and our way is still clear by morning. But, we will make it no further tonight."  
  
Legolas nodded, and went to a cluster of younger pines, their low boughs offering some shielding from the relentless downpour. Moraelin followed him, watching in amusement as he bent double to go underneath them. Elves were so unnaturally tall, it was a wonder they could get around at all!  
  
Moraelin dropped down next to the trunk of a fallen tree, and huddled within the billowing confines of her cloak. Like most of her clothes, the cloak was an article designed for a man, which she had altered to suit her much smaller stature. She was glad now for the excessive size of the cape, which she could easily cocoon her entire body in. She looked up at Legolas, who was sitting with his back against a tree, a look of mild misery and annoyance marring his face. Moraelin was not tired, and she knew Legolas would not sleep. It seemed they should be speaking of something, but an awkward quiet hung in the air. Finally, Legolas spoke up over the sound of raindrops falling from the pine needles above to heavily patter the bare ground.  
  
"That axe is beautiful," he commented, inclining his head to the large battle-axe she had unstrapped from her back and set beside her. Its wide head was accented with Dwarvish runes that followed the curve of each ruthlessly sharp edge. The handle grip was wrapped with pale doe hide. In the middle of the axe head was set a diamond of staggering size with the design of a star etched about it.  
  
Moraelin lifted the weapon easily, a smile of obvious pride crossing her face as she handed it to him. "My grandfather made it for me. The symbol of the star is not often part of Dwarf craft, but he included it to represent my elf blood. I stayed for several years with my kin in the mines."  
  
Legolas hefted the weighty weapon, feeling the flawless balance and artistry of it. "His skill is admirable," Legolas said sincerely as he handed the axe back to her.  
  
Moraelin took it with one hand as she drew back part of her hood with the other. "It was in that time that I was given my ear chains as well." Legolas had noticed earlier the small strands of metal dangling from each ear, "Every Dwarf woman wears them, an unmarried woman has two in each ear to represent her mother and her father. When a Dwarf woman marries, she is given a third chain, to represent her husband."  
  
"Gimli never mentioned such a tradition," Legolas said, his interest piqued.  
  
"Gimli is not, to the best of my knowledge, a Dwarf woman." Moraelin replied lightly.  
  
Legolas smiled sheepishly, "I suppose you are right. He did tell me of armbands. Is it true they are given to warriors to represent their lineage and exploits in battle?"  
  
Moraelin nodded. She stuck one arm out from the protection of her cloak and rolled up her oversized sleeve to display the gold band encircling her upper arm. Legolas's eyes were drawn for a moment from the beautiful ornament to a jagged white scar that snaked its way along her arm. She did not notice his distraction, for she was absorbed in explaining the runes on her armband. Legolas blinked, finally listening to her, "My grandfather even instructed the metal-smith in Elvish so that he could inscribe my father's name and title as Mirkwood's high captain."  
  
Her arm disappeared beneath the rough material again, and Legolas found his eyes were caught by another old wound, a thick scar that traced her cheekbone underneath her right eye. How he had not noticed before, he did not know. But, it occurred to him then that such old injuries were a more effective record of one's battle experience than dry runes on a piece of jewelry. It was becoming increasingly clear that Moraelin's life had been a rough one since leaving Eryn Lasgalen far behind.  
  
Moraelin's smaller axes sat at her side with the rest of her weapons. "Did your grandfather make those for you as well?" Legolas asked.  
  
"Yes," Moraelin said, looking down at them. She glanced up at Legolas to catch him staring intently at the sheathed sword tucked closest to her side. He met her eyes, but both looked away quickly, suddenly uncomfortable. Legolas had seen that blade before. It was a magnificent weapon, and ancient beyond recall. The hilt was encrusted with rubies, all accenting one monstrous red gem set on the end of the handle. Caransûl it was called, the Red Wind.  
  
"Was Talendil angry when he found I had taken it?" Moraelin asked flatly.  
  
"I don't think he was surprised. I heard that all you took was the sword, you left all else behind."  
  
"I don't even know why I took it," Moraelin said, gazing into the darkness over his shoulder, "It just seemed right at the time."  
  
"It should have been yours anyway," Legolas said evenly.  
  
"I know. But I care very little for such things as inheritance and bloodlines anymore. Such things don't matter out here. It has served me well, though," Moraelin said thoughtfully, drawing it and holding it before her. It made a soft whoosh as it cut through the air, and Legolas stared at it, thinking of the last time he had seen it draw blood. It had been in Eregos's hand, it had been gripped there when he died. Legolas gritted his teeth, resisting the long dead memories that threatened to return, to torment him again.  
  
Moraelin saw Legolas's eyes had grown distant, and mistook such a gaze for fatigue. "I will stay up and watch if you wish to rest," she offered.  
  
"No, you sleep Moraelin. I will be all right."  
  
The rain had let up considerably, replaced instead by a frigid dampness in the air. She had to admit her eyelids felt heavy. She dropped onto her side, tucking her back tightly against the downed tree to conserve warmth and wrapping the cloak close around her. Her face was soon relaxed in sleep and Legolas watched her, smiling in amazement that she could curl her body into such a tiny ball. It was clear that sleeping on the wet, chilled ground was a familiar experience to her, and she dealt with it as easily as any woodland creature might.  
  
Legolas shifted his body to a more comfortable position against the tree and settled in for a night as a diligent sentry. But, in the still midnight air, he found that his mind wandered inevitably to the memory he had forced away earlier. It was as if he could faintly hear the echoes of combat coming from somewhere in the mountains, the ringing of metal on metal and the groaning of the wounded. He had fought in many wars, but his first battle was the only that truly haunted him. The pain had faded, but the bewildered horror of an elf who was barely more than a child being thrust into such raw violence was a feeling he couldn't forget. The echoing noise of battle was growing louder, seeming to draw nearer to him as the scene played once again before his cold eyes.  
  
Legolas dodged a knife thrust by the greasy orc before him, nearly tripping over the body of a fallen elf as he jumped back. His arm burned with fatigue from the grueling battle, but from somewhere deep within he dredged up the strength to slash his sword across his opponent's middle. Legolas's breath came in choppy gasps as he looked around wildly, watching for an attack from all sides.  
  
This, his first battle, was fought in a once sunny and peaceful meadow by the river. Moraelin and Talendil had begged to go to war as soldiers in their father's army, but Eregos had been firm in telling them they were too young and inexperienced. Legolas envied them now, and cursed his own foolishness for convincing his father he was ready. What he wouldn't give now to be safe in the palace with Talendil and Moraelin, awaiting the army's return with the queen.  
  
Battle had not been anything like what Legolas had expected. The chaos, the noise, the foul tongue of the orcs yelled throughout the battlefield, grating on his too-sensitive ears. As he stood amid the corpses, his sword gripped in a shaking hand, Legolas saw that no more orcs approached him. He looked up at the sky, a pure blue belying the gore all around him, and was more grateful at that moment for his life than he had ever been. As he finally let relief wash over him, a familiar voice reached his ears.  
  
Legolas's glazed eyes focused on one last fight raging not far away. It was his father, cursing in several languages as he engaged an orc. His sword cut through the air mercilessly, tearing across the orc's chest and nearly dividing the creature in two. The king then dropped heavily to his knees, the sword falling from his hand. Legolas gasped, sure his father was hurt. He ran to him, leaping over fallen fighters in his haste. As he neared Thranduil, Legolas saw that he was unharmed, that it was something else that had brought him to his knees.  
  
"No," Legolas whispered brokenly, "Oh no."  
  
Eregos lay on his back as Thranduil leaned over him, weeping and touching his friend's face. Eregos's left arm had been cleaved cleanly from his body at the shoulder, and Legolas fought the need to wretch as he spotted it several feet away. A dagger had pierced the armor covering his torso and was buried to the hilt in Captain Eregos's stomach. The grass beneath him glistened a disgusting black-red with his blood.  
  
Legolas hesitated, not sure if he could bear to watch. But, he steeled himself and approached them, standing very close behind his father. Eregos's eyes were darting in all directions, the fear and panic in them shocking Legolas. Then, it seemed he noticed Thranduil, felt the hand at the side of his neck.  
  
"Thranduil," he rasped, "I am sorry. I am so sorry to desert you like this."  
  
"No, no my friend, don't-" Thranduil insisted as a tear dropped from his cheek to Eregos's neck, where it trailed a path through the drying blood.  
  
"Thranduil," Eregos said in an urgent voice, struggling to form the words, "Please watch over Talendil. He will need-need a firm hand. Please- care for him," Eregos coughed, sending a spray of blood across his cheek.  
  
His eyes sought Legolas and his mouth moved weakly, "Le-Le-" he trailed off, his face desperate as he realized he had run out of time for the words he needed so terribly to say. But, the words were not needed.  
  
"I know. I will." Legolas said, sucking in a deep breath to keep from sobbing, "I will keep her safe."  
  
Eregos had the strength left only to nod once, his face calm as he held Legolas's eyes. Legolas felt humbled by the faith Eregos placed in him in his last moments. Tears flowed down his face as he watched Eregos's head loll to the side in death. Legolas looked on numbly as Thranduil took Caransûl from Eregos's frozen grip. At that moment, unbidden, he saw an image in his mind of Eregos and Moraelin in front of their simple home in the early morning. Before Eregos left to carry out his duties as captain, he always spent time training Moraelin in swordplay and fighting. Many times Legolas had joined them, as student or teacher depending on the day. Legolas could still see the smile of quiet pride on Eregos's face as Moraelin parried his attack easily.  
  
Never again would Eregos teach Moraelin in the fresh dawn sunlight, no longer would he be protector when she was vulnerable. It fell to Legolas to do these things now.  
  
The next several hours passed in a haze. Drained of all emotion, Legolas woodenly assisted with the wounded, with the burning of orcs and the burial of their own dead. The somber ride back to the city was also a blur, and suddenly, Legolas found himself in the darkened corridors of the palace, feeling as if he had been pulled from deep sleep. He blinked several times, limping toward the throne room. His eyes strayed to the straight back of his father. Thranduil carried himself with his usual silent dignity, betraying nothing of the crippling pain in his heart. Legolas cursed his own weakness. He could not hide the grief that assaulted him now, and wanted nothing more than to find a dark corner of the palace to collapse from the weight he carried.  
  
Entering the throne room, he looked up to see Moraelin running toward him, tears of joy and relief shining in her eyes. Legolas's swallowed a large lump in his throat as he thought of the crushing news he brought her. She threw herself into his arms and Legolas squeezed her tight, a sigh slipping from his lips. He met his father's eyes over her head, and Thranduil could do no more than to bow his head and look away. Myallore went to her husband then, seeing the look shared between father and son and sensing something was terribly wrong.  
  
Moraelin pulled away to look up at Legolas, her face set in a beaming smile. She brushed a hand over his bruised jaw and the smudges of orc and elf blood on his skin, "I feared for you Legolas. But, I knew you would come back."  
  
She seemed so small to Legolas, her brown eyes filled with an innocence he knew she was about to lose. He looked helplessly at his father again, but saw he approached Talendil land Lady Ilianel where they sat across the room.  
  
"Where is Father?" Moraelin asked simply. Legolas drew in a sharp breath, closing his eyes, "Is he coming soon?" her voice was unsteady now, apprehensive. She had thought it only weariness from battle that made Legolas seem sad, but she now sensed something else. "Is he caring for the wounded? Is he leading another company?"  
  
Legolas shook his head, still unable to find the words. Moraelin suddenly tore herself from his arms.  
  
"Where is my father, Legolas?" she demanded, her eyes flashing.  
  
"Moraelin," he finally choked out, but paused.  
  
"Where is he?"  
  
"Moraelin," Legolas said, gripping the sides of her arms. The unveiled feeling in his eyes seared into her and Moraelin quieted immediately.  
  
"Your father fell in battle. . .he died."  
  
Moraelin drew in a shaky breath, "No," she whispered. A grimace crossed her face as she clutched at her chest, the hurt inside her so strong she felt as if she were being turned inside out. Legolas made to pull her to him, but Moraelin turned and flew from him, her boots pounding along the marble floor. Legolas followed her, ignoring his protesting muscles. He caught her in the hallway, but she fought him feebly, screaming in frustration and impotent anger. He dragged her down next to a pillar, his grip on her firm. Finally, she gave up the struggle and collapsed against Legolas. The silence of the corridor was shattered as great sobs tore their way up her throat. Legolas held Moraelin's shuddering body to him and pressed his face into her hair.  
  
"He can't be gone, Legolas," Moraelin whispered, "He can't. What am I to do? Only he understands me. Only he cares for me. I am alone now."  
  
"No," Legolas lifted his head and took her face in both of his hands, "You are never alone. I will take care of you. I swear I will always take care of you."  
  
Moraelin's face twisted as she sobbed once more. She leaned in to rest her forehead against Legolas's. For many minutes they sat, both trying to regain composure. At long last, Moraelin said, "I should go to my brother. He will need me."  
  
"Yes," Legolas said and reluctantly rose. As he lifted Moraelin to her feet, she doubled over for a moment, an alarming pallor washing over her features. The pain seemed to burn through her body in waves, and she feared her weak legs would not carry her. Finally, she turned for the throne room. She felt Legolas's hand come to rest gently on the small of her back to keep her steady. His face was drawn tight with concern for Moraelin, but he remained silent as he steered her to the main chamber. She scrubbed her eyes quickly with her sleeve before reaching the sight of the king.  
  
But, what Moraelin saw as she crossed the threshold hit her like a physical blow, dragging her lower into the depths of misery. For, Thranduil stood next to his throne, presenting Talendil with Caransûl, the ancient sword Eregos had carried proudly in all his years as captain.  
  
Moraelin's face fell and she turned away quickly. Legolas stepped forward, his voice sharp with anger, "Father, what are you doing?"  
  
"I am passing Caransûl on to Eregos's child, just as he would have wished."  
  
"The father's sword goes to the eldest child, it is tradition. Moraelin should wield Caransûl."  
  
Thranduil placed the sword in Talendil's hands and turned to face Legolas in open annoyance, "That blade has a long and honorable history among our people. *Our* people, not hers. It belongs in the hands of an elf, as it has been for thousands of years, it cannot pass to a dwarf."  
  
Moraelin stepped from behind Legolas, her fear of Thranduil melting in the heat of her fury. "How dare you deprive me of my rights as Eregos's heir because of my dwarf blood. I am just as much Eregos's child as Talendil and just as skilled a warrior. Caransûl belongs in my hand."  
  
Talendil stepped up to the king's side, his eyes narrowed in arrogant defiance at Moraelin. As Talendil tied Caransûl to his belt, he did not need to say anything to his sister. His actions spoke clearly enough, and showed that he agreed with the king, that Moraelin had no rights. A line was drawn that day, with Legolas and Moraelin on one side and Thranduil and Talendil on the other. And, when the death of their father might have brought the children of Eregos closer, it only drove them apart.  
  
Legolas was brought back to the present by a renewal of the rain. Legolas looked to Moraelin, watching her sleeping face thoughtfully. What would her father say if he knew Legolas had neglected his promise, that he had left her to fend for herself in the wilds when he had sworn to protect her? Though some of it had been beyond his control, and he had searched in vain for her before, these excuses felt hollow now that he was with her again. His guilt drove him to his feet as he drew the Lorien cloak from around his shoulders. He bent over Moraelin to drape it across her sodden form.  
  
A noise rose up from behind him, a great rumbling and tearing, and Moraelin was on her feet, the gray cloak dropping forgotten to the ground. She grabbed Legolas's arm and dragged him to the bare rock of the canyon wall. He turned, gazing through the barrier of rain to the lip of the cliff. Two huge pines were slipping from the edge, tumbling with a great chunk of earth to the ravine below. Legolas could feel Moraelin's hand still clutching his sleeve, and as the noise subsided, looked over at her.  
  
Moraelin's racing heart finally slowed and she released him. The rain was relentless, flowing down the mountainside to loosen the soggy earth and send it toppling to lower ground. She sucked in a deep breath, "We need to leave."  
  
"Yes," Legolas agreed, "And Moraelin?"  
  
She froze mid-step and glanced back at him.  
  
"Next time, you pick the campsite."  
  
She chuckled, a half-smile crossing her face and he even thought he caught a little twinkle in her eyes, "Agreed." 


	9. Beneath the Watchtower

Disclaimer: Refer to Chapter One  
  
Chapter 9: Beneath the Watchtower  
  
As two dejected, soggy riders collected their equally dejected and soggy horses, a sharp wind howled through the canyon. Moraelin's fingers were numbed by the cold and she clumsily fought the straps of Rock's tack.  
  
"Here," a gentle voice came from very close to her ear as Legolas took her hands in his. He set them aside and finished saddling Rock for her as the horse fidgeted unhappily. Moraelin kept her eyes trained to the ground. The scalding heat of his skin still lingered on the back of her hands, which she now clutched tightly together within her cloak. She mumbled an inarticulate thank you and climbed into the saddle. She watched Legolas's broad back as he urged Embryn to the lead and resolved to keep such casual contact to a minimum for the rest of their quest. She could not think straight with him so close and she was going to need to keep a clear mind if she was meant to be a negotiator.  
  
A negotiator. It was preposterous, even to her own ears it seemed some type of feeble joke. She had been a stablehand, a mercenary, and a guide over the years, and most recently fought with the Dunedain. None of these professions required much in the way of communication skills. Maybe if she had been a street vendor or a teacher she would have a way with flowery words. But, a few decades among Rangers who could be silent for days when it suited them had surely dulled her language talents.  
  
But, the Rangers had taught her about listening, about reading what people don't say as easily as what they say. Moraelin could tell just by looking at Legolas that he was impatient to be back in his forest, although he did not want her to know this. She could also tell he was apprehensive. Whether it was her ability to save Talendil he was unsure of, or the reception Moraelin would receive once back in Greenwood, she did not know. Both uncertainties troubled her own mind in equal measure. She simply hoped to do what was asked of her and slip away, return to Dreary Vale and to her life so that Mirkwood could simply forget about her again. Yes, that would surely be best.  
  
The pathetic gray glow of an overcast dawn soon spread across the sky and Legolas fell back, riding beside Moraelin. A few stray snowflakes drifted down from above to settle in the folds of his cloak.  
  
"You have not asked about my mother," Legolas observed.  
  
"Surely she sailed . . . did she not?" Moraelin looked quizzically over at him.  
  
"No, she chose to remain on these shores, though Father and I tried tirelessly to convince her to go."  
  
Moraelin absorbed this news with a thoughtful frown. Legolas cut into her musings, his voice cautious, "Although, your stepmother did leave for the sea quite some time ago, when the spreading darkness became ominous."  
  
Moraelin's face hardened, "I didn't know they were letting trolls into Valinor these days. The standards must be more lax than I had thought, maybe even a mutt like me could get in now."  
  
Legolas shook his head, "Ilianel may not have been the most pleasant she-elf in Mirkwood, but I would not call her a troll."  
  
"I would," she said quickly. She met Legolas's eyes, "Oh, do not give me that look, Legolas. She was not overly fond of me either. To her, I was just some unwanted baggage attached to her trophy husband, she never tried to hide that."  
  
Legolas smiled in resignation, "Well, you will not have to deal with her now."  
  
"That is good, for she would probably be an absolute mess knowing her precious baby was a prisoner of the dwarves. Worthless sniveling woman. Valinor can have her."  
  
Legolas chuckled, shaking his head again, this time in amazement, "After dealing with the bland, boring maidens skulking around the palace, it is good to be around someone who speaks her mind."  
  
"The ladies still buzzing around you like flies on a carcass?"  
  
Legolas scowled, "Nice analogy. But, yes."  
  
Moraelin's over-confident smirk returned, "Poor, poor Legolas."  
  
"Again, something none of those women would dare say to me. You are going to take some getting used to, Moraelin."  
  
They chuckled, argued, and spoke of unimportant things as a cold day settled around them. Miles passed beneath their horses' hooves, the miserable dampness of their clothing persisting in the saturated air.  
  
It was well into the afternoon when Legolas halted, staring ahead with a perplexed expression, "What is that?"  
  
She followed his look, "We have reached the ruins."  
  
"Ruins?" Legolas gazed through the aspen trees, studying the dark mass of stone.  
  
"No one knows much about them," she began, "History is not of great interest to the pig farmers of the vale. As near as I can figure, men of old once used this canyon as a travel corridor. Now, the route is largely unknown except to locals. I'd warrant this was once an outpost. There is a watchtower and a couple of fortified buildings. There used to be more of them near the valley, but the villagers tore them down, carted out the stone and reused it. You might have noticed the large fireplace in the tavern . . . those blocks were from a watchtower."  
  
"Fascinating," he said sincerely.  
  
"You can take a look around if you'd like. We should eat a little and rest the horses anyway."  
  
Legolas nodded in agreement, dismounting. "I'm going to refill the water bags, all right?" Moraelin asked, but she could see he already approached the ruins. She had never known him to be so interested in the history of men. She shrugged and climbed also from her horse, leaving Rocky to graze. "Don't wander too far," she called to the horse as if fully believing he could understand her, "You have our dinner in your saddlebags."  
  
Legolas wove through the trees, drawn forward by an invisible hand. He could see that the weathered stone of the tower had once been masterfully carved. It was ornamented with statues of beasts and warriors, their faces now rubbed away by the ravages of time. The domed top had partially fallen in, and the pillars that had once held it were scattered on the ground. They were carved in the likeness of dragons and some still held the rusted braces where torches had been placed. Even to an elf, the place was ancient, the architecture whispered of a long-gone era of glory. But, as he approached the door to the ruined structure, a cold fear took root in him. Something was wrong. As his blue eyes widened, it occurred to him that if he were a creature of darkness, he would hide from the sunlight in such a place. His awe was quickly replaced with wariness. Something moved in the corner of his vision, but when he spun to face it, there was nothing. He opened his mouth to call for Moraelin, but only a sharp grunt escaped as he felt dull metal tear across his side.  
  
Moraelin bent to fill their canteens, the water icy cold over her hands. Its long journey from the snows of the Misty Mountains had reached its end. She recapped the container, her movements carefully controlled as she sensed eyes upon her. She tilted her head slightly to look over her shoulder out of the corner of her eye. Slowly, her hand went to the small axe at her belt. Before she had a chance to draw the weapon, a dark form shot from the undergrowth and drove her to the ground. Moraelin hit the earth hard, but rolled to the side, coming up atop the mangy orc. She drove a fist into his crooked teeth, and slipped a dagger from her belt. She meant to slit the creature's throat, but her senses screamed of more imminent danger. Moraelin dropped forward and felt the tickle of a breeze over the back of her neck as a dull axe swung just above her. She rolled to the side, trying to jump to her feet, but too late. Another orc drove his foot into her back and she collapsed to the ground, the breath forced from her lungs. Where had they all come from?  
  
Without thought, Moraelin lifted her arm just enough to bury her dagger in the foot of the nearest orc. He howled in pain and she was quickly on her hands and knees. Before she could regain her feet, the largest orc stepped up and kicked her in the face with a heavy, booted foot. Moraelin saw orange stars flash before her vision and the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. She dropped back to the forest floor, losing the grip on her weapon. "Legolas," she cried weakly, her split lip pouring blood down her chin. Surely he could hear this commotion; where was he?  
  
Moraelin tried to reach for a weapon again, fighting the dizziness that threatened to overwhelm her. Just as quickly, an orc gripped her wrist, and though she fought to twist it from his grasp, soon it was forced up behind her, and driven so far up her back she felt her arm begin to pull from its socket. She tried to flail her other arm, flip over, anything. The helplessness, the hopelessness, the stench of orc all around her transported her back to that encampment all those years ago. She could remember them leering at her, feeling a club slam into her right arm and hearing the sickening crack of breaking bone. It was almost as if she could no longer distinguish memories from reality as an orc drove a knee into her back, gathering a fistful of her hair. He jerked her head up and she could feel a spray of spit as he whispered in her ear, "You're ours now, beautiful."  
  
Moraelin saw a flash of metal in the corner of her vision and she struggled further. She could feel a knife press lightly to her neck, "What say you, boys? Kill her now or kill her once we've finished with her?"  
  
"I don't care, she'll be warm for a while yet either way."  
  
The raucous laughter of the orcs filled the air. Moraelin screamed, the rage in her voice enough to chill another creature to the bone, but the orcs only crowed louder with disgusting laughter. Underneath their cackling, a sharp whistle cut through the forest. The crude knife that had been bound for her throat fell harmlessly to the ground before her eyes as the orc dropped dead on top of her. Her eyes slipped shut in relief, hearing the bewildered yelling of their enemies soon cut off by rapid humming of arrows. One last dull thud of a collapsing body, then silence.  
  
Moraelin lay beneath the reeking body, too exhausted to move. She felt it thrown away from her, and gentle hands cupped her shoulders. Moraelin slowly made it to her hands and knees and Legolas helped her turn over and sit down heavily. Around her swollen lips, she scolded, "I had them just where I wanted them, Legolas. Must you come charging in and steal all the glory?" She glanced up at Legolas, seeing a hint of terror lingering in the blue depths of his eyes, but now a slow smile spread across his lips. He released a breath he did not realize he had been holding.  
  
"I'm sorry Moraelin. I'm sorry I did not come to you sooner."  
  
"I told you, Legolas, I was just about ready to take them when you showed up. But, I appreciate the help nonetheless." She began crawling to the stream, but continued, "You know, you're rather handy. I might just keep you around."  
  
"Moraelin, let me take a look at your face," Legolas called, following her.  
  
"I'm all right," she insisted, brushing away his hands and turning to the creek, which was swollen from the night's rain.  
  
"No, you're not," he said, but she barely heard him as she had dunked her head in the water to wash away the blood that covered the lower half of her face. She sat up, but her head swam a little, the world around her dimming. In her confusion, she could swear she saw Aldruid's face, and Elladan standing just behind him. The revolting smell of the orc camp assaulted her nose. Her left eye was swollen shut, and she could see only through a tiny slit of her right eye. She was slumped forward, with not even the strength to lift her head, even when the chaos of battle around her subsided. Suddenly she could sense someone kneeling before her and braced herself for the blow that would surely follow. But, instead, a hand cupped her chin, lifting her face carefully. Despite the gentle grip, she felt the ends of her broken jawbone grate together, the pain exploding through her gut. She moaned weakly and tried to tear her face away. She heard Aldruid gasp the words, "She's alive."  
  
Moraelin shook her head briskly, both to clear away the mist of memories and shake the water from her hair. Legolas flinched away from the spray. Moraelin wiped the blood from her face with the back of a sleeve, rising unsteadily to her feet. But, as she glanced down at her hand, she saw that the shakes had returned. She cursed, and turned away from Legolas, hoping he would not see. But, he was all too aware.  
  
"Moraelin," he said hesitantly, "Let me look at your face."  
  
She turned slowly to him, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Legolas ducked his head and began examining her nose and mouth. Her nose was still bleeding a little, but quick inspection told him it was not broken. Her top and bottom lip were both split open, and the left side of her jaw was beginning to swell. Underneath the bright crimson of her blood, her lips had gone white, he could only assume from fear. After a while, Moraelin looked up to find that he was no longer studying her injuries, but now searched her eyes, as if trying to catch a glimpse of what Moraelin felt beneath the weather-beaten Ranger mask she hid behind. Moraelin's breath caught for a moment at the probing look, his face mere inches from her own.  
  
Legolas reached for her hands, and she did not fight him. She tried with every fiber of her being to still them, but Legolas could feel the tremors coursing across her fingers. "What is it? What happened?" he whispered.  
  
Moraelin jerked her hands away and turned from him. "Nothing," she wiped a few drops of blood from her nose with the back of her hand and mumbled, "It's just that-I just-" she closed her eyes, knowing she should go no further, but on a rush of breath confessed, "I hate the way they smell. I feel like it surrounds me, sticks to me, that I can't clean it off. I hate it."  
  
The absurdity of that statement almost brought a grin to Legolas's lips, but he resisted, frowning instead. There was something deeper and older to that than she was letting on. He stood silently, waiting for her to continue, but knowing better than to push her too much.  
  
"Why?" was all he said.  
  
"It does not matter," she shrugged, bending to retrieve the canteen and her large axe where it had fallen from her back in the fighting. She began searching for her dagger, sure to look anywhere but at him. "It is in the past."  
  
She knew such shallow words would not satisfy Legolas, but he just stood there, so infuriatingly patient. Moraelin arranged her weapons on her back, and then went to collect Legolas's arrows.  
  
"Leave them," he ordered, but she continued as if she had not heard. Grunting as she yanked an arrow from her assailant's back, she finally said,  
  
"I suppose if you are so blasted curious, I could give you the short version of the story." She planted a foot on the shoulder of another orc to extract an arrow. Legolas watched the non-committal tilt of her head, the blank stare of her eyes. She was fighting harder to maintain the mask at that moment than any he had seen in the past days.  
  
"Years ago," she began, "the Rangers received word that orcs were in the forest north of Rivendell and Elrond wanted aid. I didn't associate with elves anymore, everyone knew that, but Aldruid talked me into riding with them. When we arrived, a smaller band of orcs had split from the main force, so a handful of Rangers and I went after them, while the others rode on with the twins. Unfortunately for us, the group we tracked was on its way to meet with about fifty more of their kind. We did not stand a chance against such numbers. They killed the Rangers and captured me." Moraelin had reached the dead orc who still had her dagger embedded in his foot. But, she did not reach for it. She just stared down at the orc, her eyes slowly solidifying into orbs of polished black marble as she continued; "I was not cooperative enough for their tastes, so they beat me. The more I fought, the worse they beat me. I hit one of them back. So, they broke my arm and nine of my fingers. I don't know how long I was there, Aldruid could probably tell you, you lose track of time in a situation like that. A few of my ribs got broke, my jaw in a couple of places, I was a mess. The Rangers eventually found me and killed the orcs. Aldruid took me to Rivendell. He saved my life." A smile cracked her face, but the expression seemed almost to pain her, "I thought the worst of it was over, but waiting for my body to heal was terrible too. With my fingers broken, I couldn't even button my own shirt. Elrond and Aldruid had to help with everything. It was humiliating. Even now that I am well again, I still hate the smell of orc. It makes me think of that night, of feeling scared and helpless."  
  
Moraelin kneeled and gripped her dagger, tearing it from the orc's flesh in a violent motion. She wiped the weapon on the grass and stood, "But, as I said, it is in the past and it is high time I moved on."  
  
Moraelin pressed a handful of arrows into Legolas's palm, and reluctantly he took them. She glanced up at Legolas and found him staring at her with an agonized expression, a nearly palpable pain at all she had endured. This brought an immediate scowl to her face, "Do not look at me like that, like you pity me. Do not bother. In your eyes, what happened to me is tragic, but out here, that kind of thing happens every day. What I went through was nothing, and at least I survived. Most are not so lucky. Like the Rangers I watched die that day," she stepped very close to Legolas and the bitter venom of her voice seemed to penetrate to the very marrow of his bones, "But what would you know of such things? What would you know of what it is really like out here? You, who has spent your entire life in the safety of your father's fortress, a prince who could hide behind his father's army? What would you know of hunger, hurt? You pore over maps in a well-furnished throne room as servants bring you refreshments and you call it soldiering, you call it courage. Do not make me laugh."  
  
Moraelin stalked away, throwing up her hands in anger, "But what would any of your kind know of hardship? You sit safe in your protected realms singing and eating and looking back over your long, glorious lives while others must spend their entire lives looking over their shoulder, waiting for the next attack. If elves made even the slightest attempt to use their legendary wisdom and power to help others, do you know what a difference it could make? Do you know how many could benefit? But, no elves care, because no elves venture out of their beautiful havens long enough to see how difficult life is in the wilds."  
  
Legolas tried to control his temper, but with little success. This unexpected attack had brought a fire into his normally calm eyes. He ground out, "I understand what you are saying, Moraelin, but you know that I have left my father's halls. You know full well that I have experienced life in the untamed lands."  
  
"Yes, of course," Moraelin agreed with false sweetness, "You were one of the Nine Walkers. You left Mirkwood once. Once. And you are a hero for it. But, what of those who must face the perils you did every day of their lives? Are songs sang and stories told of them, do they become famous? No. All they get when the day is done is the relief that they did not die that day. You are an elf, and royalty. Do not think to compare yourself to those who truly face difficulties."  
  
"I cannot help who I am," Legolas snapped.  
  
"Neither can I," Moraelin drawled, "But that did not stop your kind from condemning me."  
  
"Will you stop saying 'your kind'? You are an elf too."  
  
"Not in my heart," she replied coldly, "Not anymore."  
  
Legolas found his jaw was clamped so tightly shut in anger and frustration that he could not speak. But, it mattered not, for there was nothing left to say. Both started as a loud crack sounded in the charged air. Legolas looked down at the arrows in his hand and saw he had clenched his fist so tightly one of the wooden shafts had snapped in half. He tossed the ruined arrow aside and turned from her, whistling for Embryn.  
  
Moraelin's choked gasp followed him, "By the Valar . . ." she whispered.  
  
"What," he turned back in annoyance, and found her rushing to him. He watched her, wondering what in Arda was the matter with her. She tore his cloak from his shoulders, and he looked down. The side of his shirt was stained nearly black with blood, it had seeped even into the beautiful Lorien cloak and down half of his pant leg. Moraelin had not seen it until he had turned from her.  
  
"What happened to you?" she asked, glancing up at him. Their argument was forgotten, and her eyes held only deep concern.  
  
"I-I don't know. I was attacked by the ruins, that was why I did not reach you right away. I thought it just nicked me . . . I barely felt it."  
  
Moraelin had rolled the sticky, wet fabric up over his flat stomach and was probing the six-inch wound with careful fingers. Her eyes darkened as she found what she had most feared. Along the wound was a jelly-like substance, an oily black liquid that clung to his skin.  
  
"What is it?" Legolas asked, seeing the clouding of her features though she tried to conceal it from him.  
  
"The wound is not bad, but the weapon was poisoned." She dug a scrap of cloth from her pocket and swabbed a bit of the poison onto it. Taking a careful smell, she frowned, "This poison is extracted from the moonroot plant that grows along the cliffs. It is mixed with a few other nasty toxins and suspended in animal fat. The orcs here use it from time to time."  
  
"So, you have seen it before? You have treated others exposed to it?"  
  
"Yes," Moraelin replied, "One other man."  
  
"What happened to him?" Legolas asked.  
  
"Oh, he had a little fever, but he was all right after a time," Moraelin lied easily. The truth was, despite her best efforts, the man had been dead within three hours. But, she wasn't about to tell Legolas that.  
  
* * * *  
  
To Cara: Thank you for the wonderful review! You are awesome! My roommate is also on my case for not bringing in more romance . . . I'll see what I can do! 


	10. Slipping Away

Disclaimer: Refer to Chapter One  
  
Chapter 10: Slipping Away  
  
"Moraelin, we have to go." Legolas urged, his clear eyes slightly frustrated.  
  
"I'm nearly done." She replied with false calm. As her capable hands bound the wound with strips of cloth cut from her blanket, her mind churned with potions, symptoms, and a dizzying attempt to calculate the impact of poison on an elf compared to a mortal. But, there was no way to know how it would affect Legolas. She had scrubbed as much poison from the wound as she could as Legolas clenched his fists against the pain. She had also packed the wound with a special mix of leaves the Rangers used in these cases. But, if the poison was already in his blood, it would do him little good. He looked strong now, but she closed her eyes for a moment and drew in a quiet breath. It would take him eventually, this vile weapon never missed its mark. She thought that of the entire arsenal of the orcs, the moonroot poison was particularly cruel. How many fighters had left a battle, relieved that they had taken no more than a small wound, only to collapse soon after? How many families had been forced to watch someone they love slip away, death stealing them with cold, merciless hands?  
  
She straightened, looking down at Legolas where he slumped on the ground. She reached down to help him to his feet, but he just stared up at her for a moment. Something was wrong, it was in the way she stood, the stern set of her face. There was something she wasn't telling him. But, he took the hand she offered and rose. He lowered his shirt back over the bandage and whistled for Embryn.  
  
"Legolas, you shouldn't ride, you . . . lost a lot of blood." Moraelin bit her lip, "Just stay here. Rest. I have to find a swamp, there are some herbs I need for your fever."  
  
"We can't stay, you know that. It might still be unsafe here." Legolas lifted a hand to her face, rubbing his thumb lightly over her cheek, "I'm all right. I'm not going to leave you."  
  
Moraelin nodded, turning quickly away from him. She climbed into the saddle more slowly than usual, her spine still sore where the orc had dropped a knee into it.  
  
"If you start feeling sick, I want you to-"  
  
"I know," Legolas said patiently, "I will tell you."  
  
* * *  
  
"Will you stop doing that?" Legolas said testily. Moraelin had brought her horse alongside his so she could feel his forehead with the back of her hand. She had done so about every ten feet for the past two hours, and Legolas was beginning to tire of it. After a few moments, he reluctantly said, "Well?"  
  
Moraelin eyed him in confusion.  
  
"Well," Legolas said, "Am I any worse?"  
  
Moraelin stared straight ahead, her face strained, "You're beginning to get warm. We should stop soon and . . ."  
  
She looked over at Legolas to see him tipping to the side, his eyes glassy, and she had to grab a handful of his shirt to stop him from pitching out of the saddle. "All right, we're going to stop right now."  
  
Legolas shook his head briskly, "I'm sorry, I don't know what happened. I'm fine, we can continue."  
  
"No." Moraelin said firmly. She dismounted and reached up to help Legolas down from his horse. As she wrapped an arm around his back to keep him upright, she felt the heat beginning to radiate off of his body, and had to hide her alarm. The poison had not affected him right away, but now the symptoms seemed to be moving at a startling rate.  
  
"We have to find somewhere to camp where you'll be safe." She pulled his arm up over her shoulders and began walking with him along the rushing stream. His steps faltered, and he was leaning more weight onto her smaller frame. Through a copse of trees, Moraelin could see a misshapen pile of rock and moved toward it. To her relief, she found it was another watchtower, but this one had completely fallen in, having surrendered at long last to the elements. As she half steered, half carried Legolas to it, she scanned the ruins for shelter.  
  
"You just wait here," she ordered, helping Legolas sit on a stone slab. Dizziness took him again, and he leaned precariously forward. Moraelin stopped him with a hand to his chest and eased him to the ground, "Maybe you should just lie down."  
  
Legolas nodded in agreement, but his face was tired, blank.  
  
Moraelin turned from him, taking a brief moment to steel herself. Fear was clawing through her like some feral beast, but she could not show this to Legolas. She had to appear calm.  
  
Scrambling over the haphazard maze of fallen stone, Moraelin tried to find somewhere that they might make a fire and be sheltered from the elements. Soon she found a pile of tall stone blocks that had collapsed against each other in such a way that left a large space between them. She crawled beneath them and found the opening to be the size of a small cave, and the stones leaned in to make a roof above her. Leaving, she gave a few sharp kicks to the stones, and convinced that if they had not fallen in over the past thousand years they weren't going to tonight, she returned to Legolas.  
  
When Moraelin neared him, she saw he leaned weakly against a stone. His head was tipped back against it, and his face was pale, his eyelids drooping in exhaustion. She kneeled before him, brushing a few golden hairs back from his burning temples. His throat constricted as he swallowed loudly, his throat bone dry.  
  
"Come on," she commanded gruffly and hauled him back to his feet. He proved even more difficult to move now, his feet dragging and his arm limp across her shoulders. She grunted and gripped him harder around the waist, "I thought elves were supposed to be light," she mumbled.  
  
"I thought dwarves were supposed to be strong," he murmured back, and Moraelin smiled in relief. Surely if he was well enough to tease her he had some strength left.  
  
As she settled him beneath the huge slabs of stone, his throat ground again with difficulty. Moraelin took a water bag from across her shoulders and helped him to take a deep gulp of water. He nodded in gratitude, but he seemed too weak to speak. Moraelin swept away a few stray drops of water from beside his mouth, daring to meet his eyes. He stared back up at her, his bright blue eyes seeming to churn like burgeoning storm clouds, doubt and pain mingling with that unreadable emotion that was always there when he gazed on her. Moraelin's fingers lingered on the heated skin of his face. Her chest tightened, and she could barely choke out the words, "I will not let you slip away. I will make you well again, I swear it."  
  
Legolas reached up and curled his long fingers around her hand. His grip was surprisingly strong, and Moraelin gave him a watery smile. Dropping a quick kiss onto the back of his hand, she pulled away from him.  
  
"There is a marsh not far ahead, I can smell it. I need to gather some things, so you just rest for a few minutes, all right? I won't be long."  
  
Moraelin unclasped her cloak and draped it carefully over him. She turned then and left him before his eyes could hold her there. While she thought he might still be able to see her, she moved at a brisk walk. But, once out of sight of their camp, Moraelin broke into a dead sprint. She hurdled over a few weathered stones, her sword clattering at her hip. Rock, looking up from taking a leisurely drink from the stream, sensed his master's urgency. Moraelin leapt on his back and kicked his sides sharply. The horse responded, rearing onto two legs for a moment before driving forward. Moraelin hunched low over his neck and whispered fiercely into the wind, to whatever spirits cared to listen, "Don't you take him yet. Not when I've just found him again."  
  
* * *  
  
As the marsh opened before Moraelin and Rock, she felt a groan creep up from within her chest. It sat in a wide valley between the canyon walls, a huge reeking backwater of the stream. The biting flies had swarmed her before she was even in sight of it, and she had known that could not bode well. She dismounted, and Rock swiftly turned and trotted in the other direction.  
  
"Oh, you'll leave me to do this on my own? Fine. Wonderful." She grumbled, but she knew he would stay near enough to return upon her call. She still wished she had someone to share the bug bites with.  
  
"I hate swamps," she muttered, but started into the rotten mud without hesitation. There was little time for complaints, her mission was a vital one.  
  
Moraelin's leg was sucked deep into the hungry mud, and she lost her balance. Tipping dangerously, she flailed her arms. A great splash dispersed the insatiable insects for a brief moment as she went under. As she burst sputtering from beneath the stagnant water, grainy mud and thick algae dripping from her face, the bugs settled back in about her unfazed. She trudged forward, dragging her legs through the mire and hauling herself up onto a clump of grasses. Through several such pools she struggled, and did not spot the plant she needed. Soon, her grumpy frustration was replaced with slight panic. Night was closing in, and Legolas did not have time to wait, she had to return to him. She could not allow some blasted mud to stand in her way.  
  
Collapsing onto a tiny piece of dry ground in between slimy green pools, her chest heaving from the effort, Moraelin looked up. There it was. She nearly cried with relief and struggled to her knees. Drawing a dagger from her belt, she cut several of the purple tinted leaves with care that bordered on reverence. When they were wrapped in cloth and stashed in a pouch at her belt, she stood on shaky legs.  
  
Three sharp birdcalls echoed across the marsh, and Rock galloped toward the signature call. As he reached the edge of the water, he paused, tossing his head and stamping his feet against the persistent flies. He stared across the distance at Moraelin with baleful eyes, as if to ask, "Must I?"  
  
"Come on, you cowardly beast, don't just stand there staring at me!" Moraelin yelled. She had long ago stopped worrying about what others might say of her if they heard her speaking to her horse as if he were a person. The difficult animal had more personality than most people she knew, for better or worse.  
  
When Rock stood before her, chest deep in muck, she rubbed his nose and climbed into the saddle. "You're the best horse that ever lived, have I told you that yet today?"  
  
He grunted, and if a horse could make a sound of cranky disbelief, that was it. He set out across the marsh, bearing Moraelin and an even more precious cargo back to the ruins.  
  
* * *  
  
Legolas's face twisted in displeasure. "It tastes terrible," he rasped.  
  
"Do you have any idea what I went through to get this for you? Ungrateful elf."  
  
"I'm sorry," he whispered, his face seeming even more wan in the dancing firelight.  
  
"I was joking, you know that, Legolas." But, she scratched briskly at an insect bite on the back of her neck, aware she was only half joking.  
  
Legolas obediently downed the rest of the thick drink, feeling it slide down his throat and leave a gritty film over his teeth. He was feeling improved now that he was off of the road and allowed to rest. But, a frustrating weakness had sapped his limbs, and he could do little more than lean back against Moraelin's saddle and watch her in the orange glow of a small fire she had used to prepare his medicines. Just looking at the fire reminded him of how his body burned, and the warm drink she had forced him to consume did not help. He looked away, a slight frown on his face.  
  
"What?" Moraelin stopped picking dried mud from behind her ears long enough to see the darkening of his face.  
  
"It's so hot," he said.  
  
Moraelin crawled to his side and unbuttoned his shirt, helping him to sit up slightly so that she could remove it from his back. She leaned backward to dig a piece of cloth from her pack and wetted it. Slowly, she drew the cool cloth across his face and neck. As she moved on to his torso, her eyes followed the path of the cloth along the sculpted muscle visible beneath skin turned a pasty white by illness. After several minutes, she folded the cloth and draped it over his forehead. She placed another cool cloth behind his neck.  
  
"Your fever is worsening," Moraelin admitted softly, "But, once it breaks, you will be all right." She swept a hand across the side of his face, her touch soothing him.  
  
"You have a healer's touch, just like your father," he said, his eyes burning into hers for a moment. "Do you remember when we were just children and your father took us fishing? You were very small, you might not remember . . ."  
  
A slight smile spread across Moraelin's face, a dreamy glint in her eyes, "Father put us up on a tall white horse. When he set me in front of you he said . . ."  
  
" 'Hold onto her tight, Legolas, she's a squirmer,'" Legolas finished the sentence for her in an uncanny approximation of her father's baritone. Both dissolved into a fit of nostalgic laughter.  
  
When their mirth had faded, Moraelin winced, "I remember . . . you broke your arm. A bee stung the horse and it bolted and we both fell."  
  
"Yes," Legolas said with gentle eyes, "Your father cared for me, just as you are doing now. He was always so calm; he helped me to be strong. You are so much like him, soothing, composed."  
  
Moraelin's chin shook and tears filled her eyes until they glittered with the reflection of flickering flames. She whispered, "When you broke your arm, you didn't cry, not a single tear. You were so brave. I remember, I was scared, I-I started crying and you said . . ."  
  
Legolas's eyes had glazed, his voice a faint exhalation, "I said, 'Don't cry, little one. I'll be all right. Don't cry.'"  
  
His head dropped back against her saddle with a soft thump.  
  
"No," Moraelin choked, crawling wildly to lean over him as tears rolled down her cheeks. Her face twisted into a grimace, "Don't you tell me not to cry."  
  
She pressed a hand to his face, slapping his cheek with her fingers, calling his name. He would not respond, he did not move. A wrenching sob tore up her throat and she dropped her ear to his chest. She could feel it move up and down, hear the beating of his heart as his fevered skin burned her ear. He lived, but barely.  
  
Moraelin wet the cloth again and bathed his neck and face. Sobs shook her, she had not cried so in a very long time. The cloth kept slipping from her shaking hands. But, for the next few hours, she drew the cloth over his skin, slowly, unthinkingly, not knowing what else to do. She cried until her chest felt bruised and her face was puffy and raw. He was too still, he should have been mumbling, thrashing, hallucinating, anything. Instead, he was simply dying. Finally, she sat and cradled his head in her lap. She brushed a hand over his fine hair but soon she dropped into an exhausted sleep with her neck bent awkwardly against a rough stone block.  
  
* * *  
  
Moraelin's head shot up, her eyes darting to the entrance. She could smell a foul odor entering the cracks between the stones. Not orc, more rotten, like the concentrated stench of carrion. Something had circled the tower, and was still out there. Waiting.  
  
Moraelin looked down at Legolas's ashen face where it rested in her lap. She gently put his head against her saddle again. Placing her cheek very close to his mouth, she felt the tiny breeze of his breath fan across her skin. The relief that she felt strengthened her, and she leaned in to kiss his fiery forehead. She framed his face with her hands, brushing her thumbs along his jawline, and then turned away from him. She arrayed her weapons on her back in the darkness, the well-worn handle of each suited to her hand alone. As she crawled from their shelter, she glanced over her shoulder at Legolas, who lay motionless beneath his blankets. A moment of pained hesitation and then Moraelin left him, creeping into the forbidding night.  
  
* * *  
  
Thanks SO much to my marvelous reviewers: cara20, Rinoa36, and TigerLily, and Dragon-of-the-north 


	11. The Deepest Part of the Night

Disclaimer: Refer to Chapter 1  
  
Chapter 11: The Deepest Part of the Night  
  
Moraelin slunk through the ruins, her expression one of annoyed disgust. By the Valar, what a stench. Feeling along a block of stone, she drew her sword, wincing as the blade made a loud ringing noise. The smell seemed to surround her as she left the stone monoliths and approached the stream. The tense expectation was finally broken as the sound of a scuffle reached her. Moraelin froze, squinting into the night, trying to see motion, knowing she could see nothing in the inky blackness. Then, the unmistakable scream of a frightened horse pierced the dark.  
  
Moraelin broke into a run, stumbling once over a rock as she dashed blindly to the noise. She splashed into the creek, its shocking chill robbing her of breath as she trudged clumsily through the water.  
  
She could make them out then, a huge warg facing down an undersized black horse. The two animals were circling each other in a deadly dance. Then, Rock reared, cracking a hoof across the warg's nose, earning him a swipe of claws across one shoulder. Undeterred, Rock leapt up again, flailing his sharp hooves at the stinking creature. The warg seemed to decide he was not worth the trouble, and twisted suddenly. It had found a new target.  
  
Embryn spun, but could not flee fast enough. The warg leapt onto his back, his teeth sinking into the horse's beautiful neck. Embryn bucked wildly, trying to dislodge the warg. Moraelin crouched nearby, and when the two animals drew close, she sprang onto the warg. With one handful of reeking fur, she clung to its back. She swung her sword inward, between Embryn and the warg, and tore her blade across the warg's neck. She felt a great shudder run through its body at the sudden pain.  
  
As the two animals reared one last time, Moraelin tried to jump clear of them. But, the massive body of the warg rolled over her, crushing her for a terrifying moment. She felt her back crack, a scream tear up her throat.  
  
After a charged silence, Moraelin finally, reluctantly opened one eye, then the other. She glanced down at herself with trepidation. She was surprised to see her body was relatively intact. All except for her left arm, which was pinned under the dead warg. She grunted, trying to free the errant limb. The pain that burned through her shoulder brought a choking gasp to her mouth.  
  
Moraelin gritted her teeth. She balled her other hand into a fist, slamming it against the ground in impotent anger. Realizing how useless that particular action was, she sighed. *Well, this is quite a fix I've gotten myself into.* She grabbed the arm with her right hand and tugged hard, but to no avail. The soft sound of hooves on grass approached her.  
  
"Rocky," she said in relief.  
  
The horse lowered his head, pushing at the dead body, trying to roll it off of Moraelin.  
  
"That's right, boy. I just need a little help."  
  
It worked. He moved the warg just enough for Moraelin to free her arm. She sat up groggily.  
  
"Thanks, boy," she murmured, kissing his forehead, but felt a trickle of blood dripping down the fur of his neck. "I'll look at that in a bit," she promised.  
  
Moraelin dragged herself along the rough ground to Embryn. The horse was panting wildly, trying to regain his feet. His front legs pawed the ground spasmodically, but his rear half did not move. His back was broken. Moraelin struggled to her knees, her left arm hanging useless at her side.  
  
She pressed a gentle hand to the animal's neck and he stilled immediately. His brown eyes sought hers and she clenched her jaw, blinking back a tear.  
  
"I'm sorry, friend," she whispered. She took a dagger from her boot and drew it quickly across the horse's throat, turning away as a spray of warm blood covered her lap.  
  
Moraelin rose unsteadily to her feet, and had gone only a few staggering steps when the pain became unbearable. Her arm was out of its socket at the shoulder. She held it with her other hand and tried to force it back into place, only to feel her eyes roll back in her head as she nearly fainted.  
  
Dropping to her knees, she cursed violently. Moraelin flattened her hand on the ground and threw her weight down on the arm. It popped back into its socket, but not before an intense flash of pain that made her wretch. Moraelin rolled to the side and lay facedown in the dirt. A sharp rock was digging into her cheek and grit was entering her mouth with every heaving inhalation. She felt an insistent nose poke into her bruised back.  
  
"Leave me alone. I'm resting," she grumbled.  
  
The horse grabbed her shirt in his teeth and lifted her a little off the ground, then dropped her heavily.  
  
"You demanding son of a goblin, Rock!" she spat, "Fine! I'm up."  
  
Moraelin scrambled to her feet, fighting down another mouthful of bile. She looked down at her injured arm, at her wounded and infuriating horse, then at the body of the dead horse nearby. She could feel a scream of frustration building in her gut, like a pot of water about to boil over. But, what escaped instead was an exasperated chuckle.  
  
"Well, Rocky, I guess it can't get much worse."  
  
But, she sobered quickly as a vision of Legolas flashed before her eyes. She saw his dull gray skin, his compelling blue eyes closed, their light stolen away. She regretted her words, knowing there was one notable way this situation could get a lot worse.  
  
When finally the blood was washed from Rock and the taste of vomit washed from her mouth, Moraelin returned to him.  
  
"Legolas," she called shakily from the entrance, but only silence greeted her. She stumbled to the elf and collapsed beside him. Despair was washing over her heart like a thick film of oil, coating it, letting no other feelings in. She draped her injured arm over Legolas's chest. It rose and fell weakly, haltingly, his choppy breathing loud in the small chamber.  
  
"Legolas," she whispered, "I'm sorry. We should never have come by this way, we should never have come here. I thought it would be faster, I thought I knew. . . I'm so sorry."  
  
She tucked her face into the crook of his shoulder. After a moment, she lifted her head, looking down at Legolas. He became a shining blur, the wash of tears over her eyes like a screen of warped glass. When her vision cleared again, she cocked her head, studying Legolas more carefully. He was frowning, his mouth moving slightly with indecipherable speech. A watery grin filled Moraelin's face. He was dreaming. Surely it was a good sign, it meant he was still in there somewhere. She wondered for a moment what he was thinking of, who he was talking to in his dreams. Maybe he dreamed of her.  
  
Moraelin nearly laughed. Surely his highness had come across beings far more fit for a prince's deepest dreams than her. She smirked and shook her head, feeling sorry for herself for the briefest instant. Self-pity was not something she usually indulged in, but today, she felt she'd earned it.  
  
Thank you to my WONDERFUL reviewers: Dragon-of-the-north, TigerLily, Stun04, and Crazy*Girl. 


	12. Light of the Mariner

Disclaimer: Refer to Chapter 1  
  
Chapter 12: Light of the Mariner  
  
Legolas did not feel the arm slung across his chest or Moraelin's eyes upon him. His mind spun with fevered thoughts, flitting from memory to memory, like a butterfly drifting from flower to flower through the expansive green fields of his long life. It landed on one final flower, and lingered there.  
  
Legolas, just a small child, hopped along the passages of Mirkwood's palace. It was raining outside and he was make-believing he was a rabbit. A few more hops along the gleaming marble hallway, then he stopped to sit up on his knees and peer around, his small nose twitching as he sniffed the air, as he had seen rabbits do in his mother's gardens. But, instead of a smell, it was a sound that caught his attention.  
  
Little Legolas could hear his father's voice from the Council chamber, the king's strained frustration clear even to a child. His game forgotten, Legolas snuck to the doorway and peeked in.  
  
"You're sure?" Thranduil asked, running a hand through his deep golden hair.  
  
"Yes," Eregos replied, standing on the other side of the long wooden table, "Myallore confirmed it this morning."  
  
Thranduil squeezed his eyes shut. "Eregos, how could you?"  
  
"How can you say that to me-"  
  
"I allowed you to bring her here, against my better judgment. You have served me well through trying times, and when I saw the happiness she brings you, I could not say no. But, a child? Eregos, don't you see the complications involved?"  
  
"All I see, Thranduil, is the joy that Legolas has brought to you and Myallore these last few years. Why should we not be allowed that too?"  
  
"Because she is a dwarf," Thranduil growled, "Because the child will be a dwarf."  
  
The king drew in a deep breath. He leaned forward, bracing his arms on the tabletop and regarding his oldest friend with fierce blue eyes, "I am just now establishing tentative alliances with Imladris and Lorien. For years, they have looked down on us, as barbarous and backwards. I have finally begun to convince Elrond and Galadriel that we are serious about creating better relations with them. What will happen if word reaches them that half-dwarf children are being born here? And to Mirkwood's high captain, no less!"  
  
"It is already done Thranduil. It cannot be undone, not even by you." Eregos replied evenly.  
  
"You're right," Thranduil whispered, his face softening, "Please, just understand why I am upset."  
  
Eregos lowered his eyes, quietly confessing, "I had hoped you would be happy for us. I had hoped our children could play together as we once did."  
  
Thranduil looked away, ashamed, "I'm sorry, my friend. I am happy that you are to be a father."  
  
But, as for the relationship his Legolas would have with this unborn child, Thranduil decided at that moment that Legolas would be kept well away from it. No child of such bizarre parentage could be normal, or be a good influence on the heir to Mirkwood's throne. Thranduil glanced up, and spotted Legolas watching them from the doorway. The boy was growing very fast, he would be tall and proud, with his mother's bright blue eyes and Thranduil's own strong chin. No, he would not allow his perfect prince to be tainted by such a creature.  
  
Thranduil's sharp gaze faded away and again the butterfly took flight. Hesitating at a hazy image here, a half-remembered conversation there, it alighted at last on a memory that remained so vivid, Legolas fought it, not wanting to go back to that night. But, his fevered dreams were beyond his control, and like a sight so horrid he could not look away, he lived it again against his will.  
  
A hooting owl was the only sound in the Mirkwood night, besides the gentle noise of horse's hooves over the leaf-littered path. Three weeks of patrol and Legolas was finally coming home. Their mission had stretched from days into weeks as they stumbled upon several nests of spiders and a marauding band of orcs from the hills.  
  
As the city neared, his stomach turned, and he gripped a fistful of his mount's mane in anxiety. The horse sensed his nervousness and danced a little beneath him. Legolas took a deep steadying breath and glanced around, hoping the lieutenant beside him had not noticed. All eyes seemed trained on the bridge ahead, a last sign that home was close.  
  
All Legolas wished to do at that moment was wrench the reins around and fly back into the darkened woods. Three weeks ago he had promised Moraelin after the Swan Feather Dance that they would speak. But, what he had to say to her both elated and terrified him. He couldn't do it, there was just no way. He squeezed his eyes closed, hearing the clattering of hooves over the stone bridge.  
  
He opened his eyes slowly, decisively. He turned to the lieutenant, quietly ordering, "Lead them on, Berel. I have something I must attend to. Tell my father I will be there to see him shortly."  
  
Berel nodded and Legolas wheeled his horse down a faint trail through the woods. The small home Eregos had built was at the very edge of the city, tucked in among a spattering of huge oaks.  
  
*"Moraelin, I've known for a long time, but I was never brave enough. . ." No, too whiny.*  
  
*"Moraelin, if I must spend another day without you as my own. . ." No, too melodramatic.*  
  
He had had three weeks to plan out what he would say, and now that her home came into view, he had nothing! Legolas could see it now, the tall arched roof and the round window of the attic partially obscured by a screen of apple trees Kirali had planted many years past. Wisteria hung thick from an arbor over the door. The sweetness of apple blossoms had turned the air into perfume, and Legolas sucked in a breath, his nostrils flaring.  
  
The prince dismounted, draping his reins over the porch rail. It was after midnight, she was surely asleep, but he could not wait until morning. He felt he had waited an eternity already.  
  
Legolas studied the empty house and saw that Moraelin's window was open a crack. Legolas tucked a foot into the old trellis, climbing up to her window as he had when he was a child. He had made it halfway up the trellis when one of the slats snapped under his weight. He nearly lost his footing, but clung to the rickety wood tenaciously. He looked down at his feet, a nervous chuckle bubbling up from his chest. This had been a lot easier when he was a boy.  
  
As he pushed open the window and leapt lightly into Moraelin's bedroom, the giddy excitement he had felt disappeared like a wisp of smoke caught up in a chill winter wind. He turned slowly, studying the room with an expression of cold foreboding. The bed was empty, still made. The only thing missing was Moraelin's cloak. Everything else was just where it should have been, and yet. . .wrong.  
  
Legolas felt as if he was walking underwater as he approached Moraelin's nightstand. He carefully picked up her bottle of lilac oil, a dark frown filling his face. He brushed his thumb over the stopper, seeing a thin film of dust pushed aside. Looking down at the stand, a small circle of darker wood showed where the bottle had sat.  
  
Moraelin put this perfume on every day, without fail. But, the bottle had not been touched for days. Squeezing his hand around the cool glass he called out, "Moraelin?"  
  
The silence that followed his cry pressed in about him. He yelled her name again, but the response he received was not the one he wanted.  
  
"Legolas?" Thranduil's deep voice echoed up the stairs. Legolas slowly set the bottle back where it belonged, sure to place it exactly within the dust ring where he had found it. He spun then, facing Thranduil as he entered the doorway.  
  
"What has happened?" his voice shook ever so slightly.  
  
"Moraelin is gone, Legolas."  
  
Legolas's face twisted, "What do you mean she is gone?"  
  
"She left here more than two weeks ago." Thranduil's voice was even, but the faintest hint of sympathy shone in his eyes.  
  
"Why? Where did she go?"  
  
"You should speak to Talendil about this, son. He can explain."  
  
Legolas marched from the room without looking back. With purposeful strides, he left Moraelin's home and leapt onto his mount. Kicking the animal's sides harshly, he galloped into the city.  
  
A grand home sat beside the palace on a slight rise from the rest of the city. The magnificence of its turrets and balconies meant nothing to Legolas as he thundered into the courtyard. He jumped from his horse, glancing up at the palace gates. His mother was there, running down the hill with her gauzy robes trailing behind her. She called his name, but Legolas ignored her, bursting into the house in blind fury.  
  
Talendil had thought the home he was raised in too plain, too quaint for he and his mother now that he was a high-ranking commander. Legolas looked around for a moment in disgust at the ornate furniture and huge fireplace. It was all so artificial, hollow, just as Talendil had turned into a prideful creature, a shell of the kind boy Legolas had grown up with. Legolas bounded up the stairs two at a time and threw open the doors to Talendil's chamber.  
  
"Where is she? What did you do?" Legolas bellowed.  
  
Talendil sat up quickly, staring at Legolas for a dazed instant, "Legolas, wha-"  
  
"Moraelin," Legolas ground out, "What has happened to her?"  
  
"I told her to leave," Talendil replied, a chill in his voice that Legolas had never heard before.  
  
"You what?" Legolas asked, his face a mask of pained denial.  
  
"She does not belong here, surely you see that. She should go out and find her own people, make a new life, not keep up this charade."  
  
"Charade?" Legolas whispered, "This is the only life she has ever known. How can you call it a charade?"  
  
"She has no place here. This is better for everyone involved, especially her."  
  
Legolas scowled, "This has nothing to do with what is best for her or anyone else. It is about what is best for you! It's always about you."  
  
Talendil made to stand, a smirk crossing his lips, "It will be good for you, Legolas. It will help you get over this foolish infatuation you have with her. Honestly, Legolas, did you really think-"  
  
Talendil's words were cut off and Legolas dove at him, rage bringing a feral glow into his eyes.  
  
With the speed borne of years on the battlefield, Talendil pulled a dagger from beneath his pillow and held it before him.  
  
"Get back, Legolas. You cannot beat me."  
  
A flash of metal in the flickering lantern light and one of the knives on his back appeared in Legolas's hands.  
  
"How dare you mock what I feel for Moraelin," he growled.  
  
Talendil stood, his lip curling as he watched Legolas, "You really think you're in love with her, don't you? I thought you would both grow out of this, I really did."  
  
Myallore dashed to the doorway, still holding handfuls of her skirts. Ilianel stood just inside the room, looking ready to swoon with fear at the sight of the two elf warriors staring each other down, knives drawn. Myallore shouldered past the useless she-elf with an annoyed pursing of her lips.  
  
Legolas's chest was heaving, his eyes wild. He lunged for Talendil, but was brought up short.  
  
Myallore stepped in front of her son, her voice breaking into the chamber, "What is wrong with you, Legolas?"  
  
She placed her hands in the middle of his chest and shoved hard. He staggered back, shocked by her strength. He had never seen her in such a rage.  
  
"You never draw a blade against one of your own kind. Never. This won't bring her back, Legolas."  
  
Legolas looked down at the knife, as if seeing it for the first time. It fell from his limp hand and clattered on the floor. In the heavy quiet that followed, Legolas turned and left the chamber, his steps slow, uncertain. Thranduil was at the bottom of the stairs.  
  
Legolas faced him, determination obvious in the firm set of his lips, his clenched jaw.  
"I'm going after her," he declared.  
  
His father was equally determined, "You will not. You have duties here."  
  
"I'm going."  
  
"I forbid it."  
  
"I don't care." Legolas brushed past Thranduil and out into the night. He glanced around. It felt so cold and endlessly dark, like the entire world had dimmed around him into a great, dull void. Moraelin was somewhere in that night, alone, with nowhere to turn for help. Legolas rushed down the front steps to his horse. He was gripping the saddlehorn, ready to jump into the saddle when a voice made him pause.  
  
"I'm sorry, Legolas," Myallore said, approaching him carefully, "If I had known, I would have stopped her. It all happened so fast, she took her father's sword from Talendil's house and just left, before anyone knew what was going on. She didn't even say good-bye to me."  
  
Legolas stared forward with hard eyes, looking at the saddle but not really seeing it. The only reaction she saw was a tightening of his fist on the saddlehorn.  
  
"I was going to tell her tonight," he confessed in a shockingly neutral voice, "I was going to tell her that I loved her."  
  
Legolas swung into the saddle and galloped from the city.  
  
Myallore dropped down onto the bottom step and wept, her face buried in her hands. Moraelin was gone, and now her only child. She feared she might never see either of them again.  
  
Legolas rode blindly through the silent streets of his father's city to the bridge over the river. The bridge, that had only minutes earlier marked a happy homecoming, now signaled the passage into the unforgiving wilds and a hopeless quest. In two weeks, she could have gone anywhere; she could be in the Misty Mountains or south to the edges of the forest . . . or lying dead in some clearing, unburied and unmourned. As Legolas's heart twisted in his chest, he finally understood the pain of those hapless lovers immortalized in song, despair he had repeated for all his life without comprehension. Amroth, Luthien, Melian, all had experienced pain that had long baffled Legolas. How could something so wonderful as love be so destructive, bring strong beings to such depths of misery? Now, with stark, merciless clarity, he understood. Oh Eru, how he understood.  
  
* * *  
  
When Moraelin awoke, she looked down at herself in surprise. She was covered in sweat, and yet the night was chilly. She quickly realized the sweat was not her own. A brief moment of disgust, and then she knew: Legolas's fever had broken. She sat up slightly to find him studying her with tired blue eyes. He seemed perplexed, surely at finding Moraelin curled so close against his side, but also he seemed sad. It was an old sadness, one he seemed to have grown very comfortable with.  
  
Moraelin shook off these musings and smiled down at him. "Thank the Valar," she whispered.  
  
Legolas smiled back, and it brought a glow back to him, his faint blue-white light shining softly on the rough stone all around them. *Even when just stepping back from the clutches of death, he is beautiful.* Moraelin pressed her hand to the side of his clammy face, brushing her thumb along his cheek.  
  
The smile dropped from Legolas's face as he watched her normally guarded eyes. There was a warmth in them now, a smoldering light there just for him. He wanted to kiss her, to tell her what he had tried all those years ago to say. But, he was too weak to do either. He tried to force all that emotion into his eyes, condensing it there so she could clearly see it, it would sear into her, inescapable. But, to his immense frustration, Moraelin had risen, and was busying herself with changing his bandages. The moment was broken. Afterward, she clumsily ripped two long strips from what was left of a blanket using a rather clever collaboration of right arm, knees and her teeth. When Legolas finally found the strength to speak, all that came out was, "What happened to you?"  
  
Moraelin looked down at the warg and horse blood on her clothes and suddenly understood his alarm. "Oh, the blood? It's not mine. . . well not much of it anyway." She quieted as she knotted a sling around her neck using her teeth and hand. She then struggled to wrap another strip around the arm and across her back to keep her injured arm securely tucked against her body.  
  
"Let me," Legolas rasped, trying to sit up.  
  
"Did I say you could get up? Rest, highness." She ordered.  
  
"You know I hate it when you call me that. Now, get over here."  
  
Reluctantly, Moraelin turned her back to him and he knotted the cloth at her back. His gentle hands came to rest on her sides and he urged her to turn and face him. "Now, tell me, what in the blazes happened to you?"  
  
"I'm so sorry Legolas," she said, sitting cross-legged beside him, "Your horse is dead. A warg attacked the horses and Embryn was killed."  
  
"Did it come after you? How were you injured?" Legolas asked, his eyes darkened by the loss of such a loyal animal, but also with concern for Moraelin.  
  
"No, I jumped on its back and killed it. But, I was too late to save your horse, I am sorry." She could not meet his eyes, the shame of failure bringing a slump to her shoulders.  
  
"So, if I am understanding you correctly, you took on a warg single- handedly to try and save my *horse*? And the utter madness of jumping on the back of a hungry warg was not a consideration? At any time?"  
  
"No," she replied meekly.  
  
"I think it best if I remain conscious for the rest of this journey, if only to keep you from any more foolish acts of bravery." Legolas could not resist a long-suffering grin.  
  
Moraelin's brows lifted over her dark eyes, "'Foolish acts of bravery?' I heard a rumor that you brought down a mumak all by yourself during the war. Don't talk to me about biting off more than I can chew!"  
  
"Well, that was one of my finer moments, if I may be so bold." Legolas still lay weakly on the dusty floor, but a spark was back in his glance that Moraelin had feared she might never see again. She rolled her eyes at his pompous comment.  
  
"But, Moraelin, I escaped with nary a scratch, and you look like half the Riders of the Mark ran over you at a full gallop."  
  
"Thank you." Moraelin said with a sour smile. She sighed and pulled the blanket over his chest. "Sleep. I'll wake you at first light."  
  
Legolas wished to stay up and speak with her, but was falling into a peaceful sleep before she even finished the sentence.  
  
Moraelin dropped back, sitting a few feet away. She pressed the fist of her good hand against her lips and watched Legolas sleep. Glancing up, she could see the star Eärendil peeking through a crack between the stones. She smiled, glad to have the light of one of the greatest of the elves shining down on their humble camp, this island of safety in a cruel land that seemed determined to destroy them. For the first time in decades innumerable, Eärendil reminded her of what she was, instead of what she had failed to be. She knew the story, Eärendil was a half-elf, just like her. She felt a kinship to him now, instead of contempt. If not for Legolas's elvish blood and her own elvish healing, Legolas would be dead. The tiniest glimmer of pride at being an elf took root in her heart again, pushing back the bitterness of the past years. "Thank you," she whispered to the Mariner as his light washed over her, chasing the shadows away. 


	13. Ancient Lesson

Disclaimer: Refer to Chapter 1  
  
Chapter 13: Ancient Lesson  
  
When Legolas emerged into the early sunlight, he shied away from it like a mole leaving its burrow. He was leaning on Moraelin, his tall body slumped toward her. He pressed his lips together, his face serious, and said, "Take me across the stream, will you?"  
  
Moraelin frowned curiously, but steered him there. It proved a unique sort of struggle for a small, injured half-dwarf to lug a large injured elf through a thaw-swollen stream. As they nearly slipped on the slick stones for the hundredth time, Moraelin dragged him to shore. They went only a few yards further before he stopped her.  
  
Legolas dropped to one knee with care. He placed a hand over his heart and whispered words of mourning for his fallen mount. Moraelin stepped back respectfully, but could not help but be touched by the display. She stared down at his blond head, which was bowed in sadness, and listened to the deep hum of his voice as he recited the ancient language of the Eldar.  
  
When he finished, Moraelin went to help him back to his feet. As she pulled him up by his hand, his knees buckled and he fell heavily against her. Moraelin caught him, wrapping her arm around him and bracing her feet. Her breath hitched for a moment as his solid body pressed into hers, but it turned into a gasp of pain as her injured arm was wrenched backward by his weight.  
  
"Moraelin, I'm sorry," Legolas said in alarm as a grimace of pain washed over her face. He tried to draw back, take the pressure off of her arm, but only managed to rock dangerously back on his heels, his legs and head still not cooperating with his desire to stay upright.  
  
Moraelin cursed, pulling him to her again. "Stand still you foolish elf or we'll both end up on the ground."  
  
Legolas looked down at her, seeing the unease in her dark gaze at his closeness. He, on the other hand, was rather enjoying himself. He had nearly forgotten how good it felt to hold Moraelin. He could not resist the lazy grin that spread across his face. He was reminded of the countless hours they had spent practicing for the Swan Feather Dance. He remembered how it felt to catch her in his arms after she executed a flip, her movements so fluid it seemed she was underwater, she could float as gracefully through the sky as one of the feathers on her dress. His pleasant recollection was interrupted by Moraelin's sigh.  
  
She was staring across the stream with an apprehensive expression. "Well, I suppose now is as good a time as any to get this over with."  
  
"What are you talking about?" Legolas asked.  
  
Moraelin inclined her head, and he followed her gaze. There was Rock, grazing peacefully. He looked up, sensing he was being spoken of, eyeing them with cold suspicion. Moraelin called him over, and he hesitated, as if knowing something unpleasant was planned for him.  
  
"What is wrong with the two of you?" Legolas asked, sensing some unspoken communication was passing between them.  
  
Another sigh from Moraelin, this one so deep it seemed to have been dredged up from down near her feet. "Legolas, Rock has never borne another rider."  
  
"Never?"  
  
"No. That's one of the reasons Aldruid hates him so much. The great and powerful Ranger thought he could ride any horse and meant to show me even my horse could be taught to bear another. I tried to warn him. . ."  
  
"What happened to him?" Legolas asked in a slow, dark voice. He wasn't sure he wanted to know.  
  
"You know, it was the strangest thing, I'd never seen anyone thrown so high by a horse. I think if he'd been a little closer to the stable he would have ended up on the roof. Once we got his hip back into socket, it was fine, but he says the arm he broke still bothers him when rain is coming."  
  
"Dislocated hip and broken arm?" Legolas said with a chuckle, "I guess it could have been worse."  
  
"Well, he does still have a twitch sometimes. He hit his head pretty hard when he landed."  
  
"A twitch?" Legolas asked, his blue eyes widening.  
  
"That was a joke, Legolas. Calm down." She grinned. She helped Legolas to sit on the grass and went to Rock.  
  
"So, he didn't actually throw Aldruid?" Legolas said with relief.  
  
"Oh no, the rest is true. I just threw in the part about the twitch to see the look on your face."  
  
Legolas sent her an acidic smile, "Thanks. Kick me while I'm down. That's fine, just fine."  
  
Moraelin laughed as she approached her horse. She placed her hand on the side of his neck, looking very closely into one eye. She cooed softly, scratching him under his mane and he seemed to relax slightly.  
  
"You know this is important, don't you?" she whispered, "You could be a hero if you just do me this one tiny favor. He isn't going to hurt you, I promise. I know you only trust me, but I'm telling you that you can trust him too."  
  
Legolas fell back on the grass, contemplating for a moment that he might still be in a fevered dream. He could swear he had seen the horse nod in understanding at something she had said. Blast it all, he was starting to *believe* that horse could understand her. He was nearly waiting for Rock to answer back! This was truly the strangest quest he had ever undertaken. And he'd traveled with hobbits.  
  
When she led the horse to him, they stared each other down for a moment. Then, Legolas rose to his full height, wavering a little on his feet.  
  
"You keep glaring at him like that and we won't get very far." Moraelin mumbled into Legolas's ear.  
  
Legolas pursed his lips, "He's a horse. He has no idea what I'm thinking."  
  
"He's a very special horse," Moraelin replied defensively.  
  
"We'll see." Legolas snapped. He lifted one foot to the stirrup, feeling Moraelin's hand on his back to steady him. He found just enough strength to hoist himself up and drop heavily into the saddle. He reeled for a moment, his head spinning. But, as the horizon righted itself, he felt the animal dance nervously.  
  
Moraelin gripped the reins, her voice commanding, "Hey! Hey, we had a deal!"  
  
The horse snorted in anger, but stilled. His eyes were slightly wild, but he appeared to be prepared to bear Legolas.  
  
Moraelin raised her eyebrows in surprise. "That went better than I expected."  
  
Legolas scowled. Nausea was washing over him in waves and making him irritable. He was not well enough to travel, they both knew that. But, he knew that Moraelin was keeping a tally in her head just as he was of how many days Talendil had been held in the mines. Add to that several days it would still take them to discuss strategy with the High Council and proceed to the mines and what resulted was a daunting length of time. Elves of Silvan blood like Talendil could not survive locked away from sunshine and open air. Talendil was strong, exceptionally so, but he was still an elf. He had his limits.  
  
Moraelin took Rock's reins and began leading him through the canyon, continuing their painfully slow progress. The sun rose high in the sky, enough that the warming sunlight fell between the tall walls and onto Moraelin's back. For miles, Legolas dozed in the saddle, hunched over the neck of his surprisingly docile mount. Moraelin glanced back at him often, studying the pale perfection of his face as it bobbed lightly with the swaying of the horse. Then she would sigh and plod on.  
  
When Legolas spoke up, Moraelin jumped, so surprised after the silence, "You know, I've been thinking a lot about what you said. What we fought about before."  
  
Moraelin said nothing, just tightened her fist around the reins.  
  
"I see now that you're right, that elves have been selfish. But, things are very different now than they were when we were children. The darkening of the wood, the Battle at Dol Guldur has changed the attitudes of many. We fought alongside mortal men and renewed ties with the Galadrim. We found that, to survive, we had to cast our old grudges aside."  
  
"You say 'we' as if you include yourself. You were never spiteful like that. You were always better than them."  
  
"No," Legolas said quietly, "I have made mistakes too. Though Gimli is one of my closest friends now, when we first met I fell into that same pattern. . . I started sounding like my father."  
  
Moraelin laughed. "Well, we definitely don't want that."  
  
Legolas smiled reluctantly. "I just want you to know that it is a very different place than you might remember. A better place."  
  
"That remains to be seen," she murmured, effectively ending the conversation. After a few more yards, Moraelin said, "We are nearing the end of the canyon. Then we will cross the river valley and enter the forest. I don't know about you, but I will be very glad to leave this blasted corridor of death behind. . ."  
  
Moraelin's voice faded away as she stopped, looking ahead with narrowed eyes.  
  
"What is it?" Legolas asked, struggling to sit up straighter. Then, he saw them, the lurching forms of orcs on either side of the canyon, positioned along the high cliffs. It was an ambush.  
  
"This is all your fault," Moraelin mumbled as she struggled to untie her sling, "You smell like elf. You're drawing them in from miles around."  
  
"It would appear," Legolas growled. He twisted around in the saddle and saw orcs stalking easily down the canyon walls behind them. When he turned back, he saw a frustrated Moraelin cutting the cloth around her arm with her dagger. She stepped back, pulling Legolas's bow and quiver from where she had lashed them to her saddlebags.  
  
"Moraelin, what are you doing? Mora, don't—"  
  
"What does it look like I'm doing?" she groaned through tightly clenched teeth. The pain nearly drove her to her knees as she lifted the bow in her injured arm and nocked one of Legolas's arrows.  
  
"Higher," he instructed, "Aim higher or you'll be too short."  
  
She obeyed and sent an arrow whistling from the bow. None was more surprised than Moraelin to see an orc drop to the rocky floor of the canyon, dead before he landed. More confidently, she sent two more quick arrows cutting through the tense air to the orcs stationed on the other side of the ravine, shooting both cleanly through the chest. The remaining orc ducked low, dodging her arrow. He scrambled toward a screen of boulders.  
  
"Let me—"Legolas said.  
  
"No," Moraelin barked back, and one last arrow arced up and away, slicing through golden sunlight to reach its mark. The orc dropped from the cliff with a howl, an arrow lodged through his back and jutting from his chest. The mouth of the canyon seemed clear, but more orcs could be heard behind them, closing in on them rapidly.  
  
Moraelin bent double, clutching at her shoulder for an agonized moment. When she straightened, her face pale, she met Legolas's eyes. "Legolas, there's something I need you to do for me."  
  
"What? What can I do?" he asked frantically.  
  
"I need you to grab the saddlehorn. Have you got it?"  
  
Unthinkingly, Legolas obeyed.  
  
"Good," Moraelin said. She slapped Rock's rump loudly with a sharp yell. The horse thundered away, toward the safety of the forest.  
  
"No!" Legolas bellowed, trying to halt the galloping horse. But, Rock ignored him. Clearly, the horse was under strict orders. Legolas grunted in frustration and relented, hoping only to stay atop the animal as it flew headlong out of the canyon.  
  
Moraelin watched them for a moment, whispering, "Good boy, Rocky. You keep him safe."  
  
Her left arm had fallen limp at her side again, so she dropped the now useless bow and drew her sword. She turned, breathing deeply the pine- scented air. She heard the ugly screams of her opponents, the pounding of their feet as they neared her. But, it all sounded faint and indistinct. As her father had taught her so many years before, her world compressed, quieted, until all that existed was the beating of her heart, the rocky soil beneath her feet, and the next move of the orc before her. When she put herself into this sort of trance, things became so clear to her. The orc twisted his foot, showing her which way to expect the next blow. His yellow eyes flicked to the side, his grip shifted. She knew what he meant to do almost before he did.  
  
Moraelin blinked, the foggy whiteness dropping away to reveal a painful jumble of colors and smells. Around her lay corpses, ten or eleven of them. She bore little memory of killing them, only a soreness in her sword arm and a small nick on her hip that slowly leaked blood. It was at times such as these, when she fought by some elemental instinct, that she felt the most powerful, but afterwards, she felt frightened. She feared what her father had taught her, that she could kill with such single-minded focus.  
  
Her eyelids fluttered as she looked up into the blinding sun and lifted her arms slowly. Orc blood dripped down her sword hilt and onto her fingertips, still warm. She did not know whether to whisper to the Valar for thanks or for forgiveness. So, she said nothing, just stood like a carven statue, letting the memory of battle drop away.  
  
But, it would not leave her. It clung to her like some stain on her soul, an impurity she would never wash away. Forgiveness. She knew then that she should ask the Valar to forgive her. Because, be it memories of her capture, vengeance for her father, or just a deep-rooted hatred of orcs carried by both elves and dwarves that drove her to it, she enjoyed killing orcs. Sometimes, as she fought, she felt a laugh form in her chest, a sickening giddiness she could barely contain. Though they were cruel, twisted beings, Moraelin still felt disgusted that she should revel in their pain. Feeling dirty and ashamed, Moraelin picked up Rocky and Legolas's trail and trudged after them. 


	14. Facing the King

Disclaimer: Refer to Chapter 1  
  
Chapter 14: Facing the King  
  
When Moraelin found them, Legolas was reciting a colorful string of curses at Rock. The horse had not run out of wind until they were well beyond the rocky ford across the river and nearly to the far edge of the expansive river valley. He had then slowed to a trot, and delivered the prince to the edge of the forest, just as Moraelin would have wanted. Legolas had dismounted and tried to lead the horse back, to look for Moraelin. But, the animal planted his feet stubbornly, his head down and his nostrils flared. Legolas had begun to walk by himself, planning to just leave the brute behind, but weakness soon overtook him and he dropped down on a fallen tree. He swore at the horse again, but Rock just tossed his head in defiance, shooting Legolas a look that said, "See? You go in the direction *I* want to go, or you don't go at all."  
  
When Legolas's dizziness and blind anger had subsided enough for him to regain his feet, he took the reins again. Rock seemed to sneer at him, entirely confident that he would get his way. In frustration, Legolas cursed violently.  
  
"Don't cuss at my horse," Moraelin called as she caught up, "He saved your life."  
  
"Moraelin," Legolas breathed, dropping the reins and going to her, "Moraelin, are you-"  
  
"I'm fine, Legolas," she said, holding up her hand, "But, I lost two of your arrows. I'm sorry."  
  
Legolas waved a hand, dismissing her apology with a quick scowl. "Don't worry about that. Are you sure you're all right?"  
  
She nodded, but he saw her eyes were troubled and anxious. She kept stealing glances at the treetops, looking around her from the edges of her black eyes.  
  
The trunks of ancient trees stood tall and proud, and fiddleheads dotted the shady floor, soon to become lacy green ferns. Fresh deer tracks could be seen in the black mud, and the air smelled of decaying leaves and thaw—a welcome smell. Stillness hung in the air, as if the forest itself was breathing a deep sigh of contentment, a long sigh that had begun years before when Dol Guldur fell. Legolas felt his shoulders relax, felt the renewal of the spring air. But, he was sure Moraelin had been more calm when facing down half a regiment of orcs. Now, her eyes were moving erratically about her and she seemed ready to bolt.  
  
"What is it?" he asked carefully.  
  
Moraelin shrugged, saying with feigned disregard, "This has grown back very well. This side of the wood burned. . .burned when I was born. Don't you remember?"  
  
Legolas frowned, thinking of the terrible fire that had seared onto Moraelin the brand of a cursed being. It had been a coincidence that her birth synchronized with the tragedy, it had not been retaliation by nature and the Valar for the mingling of dwarf and elf blood. But, unfortunately, most elves didn't believe in coincidences.  
  
"Look at how beautiful it is now," Legolas said, "Not even the forest remembers that night. Why would anyone in the city remember?"  
  
A bitter laugh burst from Moraelin's mouth, "You are so naive. Homes were lost, elves died in that fire, no one forgets things like that. Lady Calinar, her entire family died that night. And I can still remember from when I was a little girl how she used to look at me. I have never, in all my years, seen a look to match it. It was a look that said, 'If only you weren't the Captain's daughter, if only you weren't in the queen's favor, if only I could get you alone out there in the woods I would kill you with my bare hands.' She was the worst, but there were others, lots of them. How could a child possibly understand such things? I used to try and figure out what I had done to anger everyone so, I swore that if I knew what it was I would stop doing it and be a perfect elfling. I just wanted the looks to stop, I wanted them to smile at me, like they did to my brother, like they did to all the other children. . ."  
  
Moraelin clamped her mouth shut, turning away. She had never spoken to anyone about these feelings, but he kept watching her with those blasted blue eyes that made her want to tell him things. She grunted in frustration, going to Rock and replacing Legolas's bow on the saddlebags.  
  
When Legolas's voice broke into the uncomfortable quiet, she expected him to try and comfort her, offer her hollow words of support that would do nothing to change how terrible it had once been. But, instead, his voice was dark, detached as he said, "I do remember. I remember the night of the fire. I could smell the smoke even in the palace and one of the maidservants took me into the deepest caverns where it was cold. I wanted to see my mother, but they told me she was helping someone who was sick. And, there was this sound, it was the strangest sound I'd ever heard, a high pitched wailing off somewhere in the palace. I asked the maid what on Arda it was. She said it was a baby crying. I had never heard the sound before. . .I was the youngest child in Mirkwood. I wanted to see this baby and see my mother, but I was kept away. I was locked away from you both."  
  
Legolas watched Moraelin's back. She had gone very still, facing away from him with her arms crossed tightly over her chest.  
  
"The next day," Legolas continued, "I remember standing next to my father and Eregos as two elves buried a wooden box," Moraelin gasped, bringing a shaking hand to her mouth, "Eregos was chanting words in a language I didn't understand and everyone seemed so solemn. I didn't know what was happening. When they threw the last shovel-full of dirt on top of it, I remember Eregos dropped to his knees. He dropped hard, like someone had kicked him in the back. And, he just stayed there. He didn't weep, he just sat there, with his arms limp, staring at the dirt. Father picked me up and took me back to the palace. Eregos didn't come with us."  
  
Moraelin was shaking her head and turned to him with a scowl. "Well, now that we've had this touching exchange of childhood memories, I suggest we get going. We are running out of time."  
  
Disbelief filled Legolas's eyes, "I just told you I saw your mother buried, and that is how you respond? I never could have imagined you would have grown so cold. Never."  
  
Moraelin's face changed then, and she looked down in shame. "I'm sorry that I have disappointed you. But, it is done."  
  
"No," Legolas whispered, stepping closer to her, "The forest healed. So can you."  
  
He pulled her into his arms, and was surprised when she did not fight him. She went to him almost eagerly, wrapping her good arm around his waist. He placed a kiss on her hair and said, "When this nonsense with Talendil is taken care of. . . when this is all over, you and I are going to put this old pain behind us and never look back with sadness again."  
  
"When this is all over," Moraelin agreed, her words muffled against his shirt.  
  
"Now," Legolas said with an unsteady smile, "You'd better help me back up on that horse because I think I'm about to pass out."  
  
A chuckle slipped from Moraelin's mouth and she kept her arm around him, steering the weakened elf toward his mount. It felt good to laugh. It felt good to think of a future beyond drinking ale she could barely afford and eating whatever she could snare. But, she dared not hope too strongly for it. Maybe it was just a foolish dream.  
  
* * *  
  
The journey through Mirkwood was uneventful, to Moraelin's relief and surprise. What was even more surprising was the change that had occurred in the forest. In her centuries away, she had heard the stories of how dangerous it had become here. All traces of that were now gone, it was a vibrant place that seemed to pulsate with life. The green was so intense it nearly burned the eyes, and all manner of furred and winged creatures could be seen, their glittering black eyes watching the two elves with curiosity as they passed.  
  
They traveled much in silence now, resting when Legolas needed to, camping when the night grew too deep for travel. Legolas's strength was returning to him slowly, but he still looked too gaunt and pale for Moraelin's liking. Soon, what Moraelin had most dreaded, what chilled her heart, came into view. The bridge.  
  
Once she crossed it, she would be in the city again, be sucked back into the world of elves and their rules and traditions. . .and prejudices.  
  
Legolas could see the side of her face and the dull, bottomless terror in her eyes. He had seen that look before, that hopeless surrender. It had been in the eyes of all who stood at the Black Gates of Mordor in the Last Battle.  
  
Moraelin shook off her foreboding and pulled steadily at Rock's reins. The looks began almost immediately, with the first passerby they encountered. Moraelin was used to the looks, she got them in every village she rode into. They followed a predictable pattern: the first quick glance, followed by a second, more searching look. Then, when they still could not figure out *what* she was, a perplexed frown would cross their face and they would stare openly. They might even lean over, whisper to someone near them, ". . .looks like an elf, but ain't like no elf I've ever seen." "Part orc, you s'pose?" "Odd creatures wandering down from the hills, what is becoming of this city. . ."  
  
Among elves, the looks were more subtle, the whispered comments of more advanced wording, but the sequence had not changed. Moraelin's response was just as formulaic. Shoulders back, head up, harden your eyes and look straight ahead. When the whispers began, she would recite in her mind a childhood song Queen Myallore had taught her about frogs in a pond, or count backwards from seven hundred and seventy-six, or try to remember what color the curtains had been in her old bedroom. Anything so that she wouldn't listen.  
  
Once she had survived the gauntlet of hushed voices and disbelieving looks, she found herself at the palace gates.  
  
"Four hundred and fifty-two," she murmured, tipping her head back to gaze up at the forbidding stone of Thranduil's fortress.  
  
"Four hundred and fifty-one," she stopped, realizing the whispers were silenced. Only the eyes of the guards now rested on her.  
  
Legolas dismounted, a little stiffly, but with more grace than he would have a couple of days earlier. The guards quickly opened the gates for them and Legolas said, "I will stable Rock. You should go to my father. Can you remember where the throne room is?"  
  
Moraelin nodded mutely. As Legolas turned away, she said, "Legolas. . . go see your mother too. You are still not fully healed."  
  
He nodded and was gone. She stood for an anxious moment, biting her lip. She wanted him to come back, she didn't want him to leave her alone like this. She frowned. For years she had taken care of herself, why should she need Legolas now? It was pathetic! But, she did.  
  
Moraelin caught the eye of one of the guards and he quietly asked, "Milady, would you like me to help you find the throne room?"  
  
"No—no, I can find it," she mumbled. The elf smiled at her. A genuine smile. Moraelin turned quickly away and entered the palace. Maybe it was true, maybe they had changed.  
  
After a few wrong turns, Moraelin neared the most ornately decorated corridor. Well-placed torches highlighted colorful tapestries and old weapons of magnificent design graced the walls. She could hear the demanding rumble of Thranduil's voice in his throne room and took a deep breath. When she entered, several sets of shining blue eyes turned to her, but the gaze that drew hers was the King's. His penetrating eyes passed over her as he unfolded his tall body from his throne. His advisors looked on with nervous expressions as he stalked over to the girl. Looking her up and down slowly, he finally lifted one arched eyebrow and grinned. "Moraelin. Still alive?"  
  
Moraelin's lip curled into a smile, a cold, soulless smile. Legolas was a fool. Nothing had changed. Slowly, she replied, "Yes. No thanks to you." 


	15. The Secret of the Mountain

Disclaimer: Refer to Chapter 1

**A/N  Sorry for the long delay, I had serious writer's block with this story, and also have been going wild with my other story, Silver Wanderer.  But, I think I'm back on track, thanks for your patience!! **

**Chapter 15:  The Secret of the Mountain**

"Moraelin.  Still alive?"

            "Yes.  No thanks to you."

            A ripple of displeasure spread through the room.  No one, not even Talendil, dared speak with such open defiance to Thranduil.  The King's advisors looked on with anxiety, all seeming to hold their collective breath as they braced for the inevitable backlash.  Only Moraelin seemed unfazed by the furious stare of Thranduil.

            Finally, the King whipped his head around, his eyes stabbing into the clump of elves in the corner.  "Isiron, gather the maps and scrolls.  Malcalas, summon all the Council members to meet in the Chamber immediately."  Slowly, Thranduil's head turned back to Moraelin, who had not moved a muscle as elves scurried around her to do Thranduil's bidding.  "Tell them our esteemed mediator has arrived."

            Moraelin scowled at the sarcasm in his voice.  Thranduil only frowned, looking closely at her for the first time.  The scowl did not suit her, although the way it fell easily amid the lines of her face showed it was an expression she made often.  Her clothes were torn and filthy and a barely healed wound crossed her lips.  She clutched one arm to her side and there were dark rings of fatigue around her eyes.

            "Where is Legolas?" he asked, his eyes still roving over her face.  He searched in vain for some sign of Eregos, for any evidence this girl was an elf.  But, she looked every bit a dwarf to him.  

            "He is stabling the horse," she answered, choosing not to mention Legolas's injuries when Thranduil seemed dangerously moody already.

            "A servant could have done that," Thranduil said shortly.

            "Well, it would appear Legolas still does not like making servants do things he can do himself."

            "He is a prince," Thranduil muttered, "He should not have to engage in menial tasks."

            "He never acquired your comfort with ordering others around, thank the Valar."

            The room had emptied, leaving Thranduil and Moraelin alone before the ornately carved wooden throne.  Thranduil moved his face closer to hers, whispering even though there was no one else to hear him.

            "Don't you dare tell me about my own son, Child of Aüle.  I won't have you turning him against me again.  I won't have you seducing him again.  When Talendil is safely back in the city, you will leave and you will never return within my borders again, do you understand?"

            "Seducing him?" Moraelin gasped incredulously, "It was never—"

            She froze, and both their heads swiveled to the doorway where a nervous young elf shuffled his feet.

            "What?" They barked in unison, and the elf jumped.

            "The Councilors are assembled, your Highness."

            Thranduil waved a dismissing hand, the motion choppy and impatient.

            As Moraelin turned to leave the room, Thranduil caught her arm.  "You remember what I said," he ordered, "When this is resolved you will no longer be welcome here."

            Moraelin just stared with disgust at his hand where it gripped her.  When he finally released her, she looked up at him, jerking her head toward the door.  "After you, your Highness."

            Moraelin's back was stiff, her steps deliberate as she followed the King into the airy chamber.  Her confidence wilted quickly as a dozen sets of knowing eyes fell upon her with varying levels of contempt.  She even recognized some of these elves from her childhood, many among the oldest and most experienced in the realm.  Moraelin cast her eyes down, blindly taking a seat at Thranduil's left hand.  

            He did not even bother with introductions, instead saying, "Your brother is held in the mines at the west end of the mountains.  We have written up an agreement that you can take to them—"

            Moraelin spoke up, "Wait.  Wait.  Tell me first how in the blazes my brother ended up in a battle with dwarves in the first place.  Your son was intentionally vague I fear.  What haven't I been told?"

            Thranduil set the scroll before her with deliberate hands.  "You need only know that we offer them these conditions or there will be no exchange."

            "I am not simply a courier," Moraelin stated, shrill annoyance in her tone, "I will speak to them and make a deal.  My brother's life depends on proper handling of this matter and you haven't the faintest clue how to deal with my people.  So, tell me what happened, from the beginning."

            Thranduil leaned back in his chair, eyeing her for a long moment.  Finally, he sighed, and his shoulders drooped.  He seemed older, more frail at that moment and Moraelin was shocked at the change.  She could see the great strain the King faced, the fear.  It was clear to her that he really did love Talendil like a second son and was terrified of losing him.  

In a tired voice, he finally explained, "Over the past several months, we had come to believe the dwarves were a threat.  There was evidence that they did not intend to remain in the mountains.  I sent your brother and a small force to the mountains, to see what danger they truly posed.  The dwarves attacked your brother's encampment in the night.  That is all I know."

            "No," Moraelin said, shaking her head in pained denial, "Dwarves would not attack a sleeping camp. And we don't take prisoners.  It is not our way."

            "But they did," Thranduil said, "And the fighting was brutal.  When Talendil was taken, his soldiers made chase all the way into the mines, but were held at bay.  They grabbed a few prisoners of their own and retreated."

            Moraelin was digesting this information, still shaking her head slightly, when Legolas found them.  He crossed the room, gazing at where Moraelin sat, looking small and uncertain in the large chair.  He stood behind her, placing a hand lightly on her shoulder.  Thranduil shot his offspring a look that could have cut glass, but Moraelin soon drew his attention.

            "What 'evidence' did you have that the dwarves were a threat to you?  Why did you think they would ever cause you trouble unless you were to go looking for it?"

            For the first time, Thranduil glanced at the other elves, his eyes darting nervously from face to face.

            "Dwarves had been spotted prowling around near the city.  Their movements were. . .alarming.  Your brother believed they might attack." 

            "Why would they attack you?" Moraelin ground out, "There has to be a reason."

            "Tell her," one of the elders instructed and Thranduil sighed.  The King's voice was almost a whisper as he said,

            "Mithril."

            Just the word alone sent Moraelin's blood drumming through her veins, brought a gleam into her eyes that nearly matched the shining of that mystical metal.

            "What-what do you mean?" she asked around her suddenly dry throat, struggling to regain control.

            "In the caverns behind the fortress, within this very mountain, is a vein of high quality mithril."

            Legolas's hand tightened around her shoulder, and she knew then this had been kept a secret, even from him.  But, Moraelin thought little of Legolas or the Councilors or even the King at that moment.  For her palms had gone sweaty, her lids falling heavily over her eyes.  She could nearly smell it now, hear the lyrical voice of the mithril calling out to her.  No wonder the dwarves had been drawn here.  No wonder they had taken such a risk trespassing onto Thranduil's lands.

            Moraelin swallowed a lump in her throat and said, "Why don't you just let them mine it?  It is no good to you, you will do nothing with it.  What do you care?"

            "I will not have dwarves mining the backrooms of my palace and passing freely through my city.  It is an unacceptable risk to—"

            "So you will fight a war over it instead?" Moraelin snapped.  "This has little to do with risks and a lot to do with power.  You have something they want, and by denying them, you have power over them."

            Thranduil slumped a little, glowering in his seat.  

            "They can find somewhere else to dig," he growled.

            "Do you know how rare reliable sources of mithril are?" she replied," There hasn't been a new mithril mine in years." 

            "It doesn't matter," Thranduil stated, "They won't mine here.  It is out of the question.  This is the peace accord we have prepared."

            He leaned forward just enough to push the scroll closer to her.  Moraelin took it, carefully unrolling the brittle paper and flattening it with her hands.  As she scanned the careful script, an expression of horrified disbelief grew on her face.

            Finally, she mumbled, "Tolls for passage on the Forest Road?  A portion of gems mined to go to you as taxes?  No admittance into the forest without an escort?"

            She lifted her hands and the paper snapped back into a roll.  "This agreement is a joke," Moraelin said, "And I refuse to insult them by presenting this."

            She flung the paper into Thranduil's lap with a slight flick of her wrist.  The King bolted from his chair, wrath burning in his gaze.  "You insubordinate little—"

            Moraelin had jumped to her feet as well, causing her chair to fly back into Legolas.  The heavy wood cracked sharply into his kneecap.  Clutching the injured knee with one hand, he hopped between his father and Moraelin.

            "Maybe we should take a little break," he suggested.  He turned to Moraelin, gripping her arm, "Let's go for a walk, all right?"

            She ignored Legolas, staring over his shoulder at Thranduil who glared right back.  

            Legolas shook her arm a little, "Enough.  Come on." He dragged Moraelin from the room, still limping a little.  He did not slow until they had reached a quiet hallway near the kitchens that saw little traffic.  Urging her down onto a bench, he squatted in front of her.

            "You both need to calm down," Legolas said, his eyes pained, "You can't keep snarling at each other like that or you'll get nowhere."

            "He doesn't understand my people," Moraelin insisted, "He doesn't understand what mithril means to us, how far they will go. . .he doesn't know anything of our ways."

            "You need to make him understand," Legolas said quietly, "That is why you are here.  You must make both sides understand each other." 

            "It is impossible," Moraelin whispered.

            Legolas took her hand, folding it between both of his, "It's not impossible.  Not for you.  Only you can set this right.  There can be no other."

            Moraelin cocked her head, looking curiously at Legolas, the smallest hint of vulnerability in her brown eyes, "Do you really believe that?"

            "Yes.  Now, let's go see if we can't talk some sense into those old men." Legolas pulled her hand up and kissed her knuckles, then dragged her to her feet.

            She followed with a sigh.

*   *   *

            Several hours later, Moraelin emerged from the Council chamber with Legolas not far behind.

            "See," he whispered in her ear, "That wasn't so bad."

            She glanced over her shoulder with a tired grin. "I suppose not.  At least I have something reasonable to offer the dwarves now."

            Legolas placed a supportive hand on her lower back.  "You're a natural, just as I knew you would be."

            "Oh, don't look so smug," Moraelin scolded, "We've still got a lot to accomplish."

            Legolas nodded.  He quickly sobered and said, "I know we need to prepare to depart, but there's one thing. . ."

            "What is it?" Moraelin asked, turning fully toward him.

            "She's too proud to bring it up herself, but I think my mother would really like to see you."

            Moraelin leaned back against a pillar, her face troubled, "I want to see her too, but it's been so awfully long.  What-what do I say?"

            "Unbelievable," Legolas said with a lopsided grin, "You just faced down Thranduil and the entire High Council of Mirkwood and now you are afraid to face my mother?"

            "Legolas, it's just so—"

            "I know," Legolas said softly, "I was joking.  Trust me, the words will come to you.  She loves you very much.  It will be easier than you think."

            Legolas leaned down to kiss Moraelin's forehead.  He then turned her toward the royal chambers and gave her a playful shove.  "Go," he ordered.

            Moraelin shot him a sharply annoyed glance.  Maybe he was more comfortable with giving orders than she had thought.  But, she did as she was told.  


	16. Loyalties

Disclaimer: Refer to Chapter 1

A/N: Sorry for the disgustingly long delay, a touch of writer's block and moving to a new state are to blame. But, I'm feeling more inspired now, so I promise to do better! Thanks for your patience!

**Chapter 16: Loyalties**

Thranduil stood alone in his throne room, staring out the balcony doors, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. A storm was gathering over the treetops, great masses of blue-gray clouds spilling over each other, spinning in a swirling dance of raw power. As the first bolt of lightning crackled on the horizon, a voice rose up behind him.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Thranduil bit back a sigh, looking down at the floor in shame. After a long moment, he turned, facing his son in the eerie yellow light that taints the earth before a storm. It made Legolas look older, his cheekbones sharp and his eyes sharper still. Thranduil had never been good at admitting he was wrong, and the words seemed drawn from him as reluctantly as removing a sliver.

"I-I am sorry Legolas. No one was to know. We thought it safer that way."

"So, the entire Council knew we were sitting on a deposit of mithril and you did not trust me enough to tell me? Your own son?" Legolas shook his head in amazement.

"We should have told you. I was wrong to keep it from you."

"Yes. Yes you were. Didn't you know it would only be a matter of time? Didn't you realize that someone, someday would come for it? You can't keep something like that a secret for very long. Especially from dwarves. I just don't understand how Moraelin could not have sensed it years ago."

"Oh, she knew it was here." Thranduil stated, turning back to watch the roiling clouds.

"What? You saw her face, she had no more idea than I did that there was mithril here."

"She knew. Do you remember when you were children, and she always wanted to play in that cellar furthest back from the kitchens? Whenever either of you were missing, Eregos or I would find you both there."

Legolas looked perplexed, "I-I do remember. She always insisted we play there, she said it was her favorite place in the palace. . . her favorite place in all of Mirkwood."

Thranduil nodded, feeling the damp breeze sweep across his face, "The vein ran directly above your heads in that room. Moraelin may not have known what she was feeling, but she was drawn to it. . .drawn like a moth to a lantern." He turned again to Legolas, his eyes weary, "You're right, it was only a matter of time, but what was I to do? This is our home now, this fortress is the center of this city. I will not give it up or share it any more than Gondor would give up the White Tower."

Legolas looked unconvinced. "All right, let us say that the new peace accord is successful, the prisoner exchange goes off flawlessly and we put this all behind us. Do you really think they'll just forget about the mithril? And, if these dwarves do hold true to our agreement, and do not come here again, what's to say in a few hundred years, their offspring won't be back, and we truly will go to war? What's to prevent that from happening?"

"What do you suggest? That we let them mine?" Thranduil asked.

"Yes." Legolas said firmly, without hesitation.

Much of Thranduil's earlier fervor had diminished, and he groped for the right words, for some way to make his son understand. "Legolas, maybe I have shielded you too much, but you must understand that these are merciless lands. One must get a foothold in a place and hold on, and make it known that a place is their own. It was this way for your grandfather, for me, and so it shall be for you. If you do not protect your borders, if you do not put the interests and safety of your own people first, then others will trample you, you will be seen as weak."

Legolas was shaking his head, his face tight with frustration, "It does not have to be that way, not anymore. Just because you and grandfather ruled your kingdoms with an iron fist does not mean that is the only way. It is a different world now."

"Because Sauron is defeated? There will always be another Sauron, there will always be someone to threaten us. It never ends."

"I'm sorry, Father, but I just don't see it that way."

Thranduil sighed deeply, "Then there is nothing I can say to convince you." A tense silence filled the room, both elves contemplating for a long moment the differences that had separated them from Legolas's earliest childhood, and the fierce loyalty to each other that kept them together. The slight rumbling of thunder punctuated their dark thoughts, until finally, Thranduil cleared his throat.

"You had best not set out tonight. The weather looks bleak. Besides, I think you could use some rest."

Legolas grinned in spite of himself. "A good night's sleep would be nice."

"Come on then, let's get you a warm meal and some clean clothes. You're a prince, and yet you look like an underfed orc." He clapped his son on the back, then steered the younger elf into the hallway.

Legolas laughed lightly at the comparison and his smile grew. For all their disagreements about leadership styles, potential princesses, or war strategies, Legolas still loved his father dearly. The only thing that had ever truly come between them was Moraelin. Legolas's eyes tightened, and in his heart, he knew it would be so again. Now that she was back, there would be strife. It had already begun, with the fight in the Council chamber. And, he feared that would not be the last.

* * *

For at least a full minute, Moraelin stared at the shining double doors, unable to lift her hand and knock. That simple motion seemed suddenly so taxing, so impossible. With a slight wince, Moraelin knocked lightly. After a moment, Myallore's voice bade her to enter.

Moraelin stepped quietly into the royal chambers. Little had changed here. The room was still decorated in pale greens and powder blues, soothing colors, like a nursery. A loom sat in one corner, a wall-hanging half finished within its frame. Huge arched windows covered one wall, and potted plants filled most of the sills.

Moraelin fidgeted a little, a nervous smile on her lips. It dropped away quickly as she saw Myallore sitting woodenly in a chair, not seeming particularly interested in her guest. She was at her work table, carefully measuring and mixing healing herbs.

"My-my Lady. It's me."

Still Myallore did not look up, her hands busily capping and uncapping urns and jars. Moraelin took another hesitant step toward her. A further stutter infected her voice as she tried again, "Myallore, I-I am so glad to see you again. It's-it's been—"

Myallore dropped the jar in her hands loudly to the tabletop. Moraelin started at the sound. Myallore stared ahead, and in a carefully controlled tone, said, "Why, in all these years, did you never think to contact us?"

Moraelin felt tears of hurt pool at the corners of her eyes.

The queen turned, accusation and pain burning from her eyes, "You might have sent word to us, left a message in one of the other realms, something! Do you know how I worried for you? Do you know what it was like for me not knowing whether you were alive or dead?"

"I'm sorry," Moraelin whispered, "I just thought...it would be easier for you to forget me if I just disappeared."

"Forget you?" Myallore gasped, her face twisting, "Forget you?" Her eyes softened and she rose, "I never forgot you Moraelin. Never."

Myallore now looked fully at Moraelin, and her lips parted, concern marring her face. She crossed the room with silent steps and lifted her hand to the purple bruise across Moraelin's cheek, the gash across her mouth. "Oh, child," she murmured in sympathy. Myallore's face clouded, almost trance-like, and she brushed her fingers over the old break on Moraelin's jawbone. Her frown deepened and she gently gripped Moraelin's upper arm at the exact place it had been broken by the orc club. Myallore then took her hands, turning them over and studying the scars.

Moraelin's amazement shone in her eyes. "How? Those injuries are years old. How could you know?"

Myallore's calm smile had returned, "I am a healer. It is my trade to see such things. Besides, I have known you since the moment you were born. Do you think such hurts would not be obvious to me?"

Moraelin smiled shakily, "I am sorry I never sent word."

"No, no, I am sorry. I should not have said those things to you. I was upset, but that is no excuse. I'm so happy that you are here."

Myallore pulled the shorter girl into her arms. Moraelin sighed in relief and pressed her face into Myallore's collarbone.

"I never thought I'd say this," Moraelin chuckled, "But I'm a little happy to be back."

Myallore's laugh sang through the air as she set the girl away from her. She blinked quickly, the glassy screen of her tears clearing reluctantly. "You've grown into a beautiful woman. I knew you would, but still, look at you."

A watery smile crossed Moraelin's lips. She was no beauty, but Myallore saw splendor even in the exceptionally plain. She always saw the good in all that was around her, quite in contrast to the bitter creature Moraelin had become. She turned away, shame bringing a blush to her cheeks that she hoped Myallore did not notice.

"Did Legolas come here? How is his wound?" Moraelin asked.

"He is well," Myallore said with a guarded look, "He tells me you have some talent with healing, just as Eregos did. He says you can heal with your touch."

Moraelin frowned slightly and looked down at her hands, turning them over and back several times as if expecting to see some change in them. They were as they had always been, rough, sunburned, with scars spider-webbing along the dark skin. She remained silent.

A warm smile lit Myallore's face, a fragile sort of hope in her voice, "I could teach you to use this gift if you wish. When Talendil is returned to us, I could—"

She trailed off, watching as Moraelin wandered to one of the windows, her gaze drawn to the bolts of white lightning joining earth to sky. Myallore flinched as the first crash of thunder seemed to shake the carven stone all around her, but Moraelin showed no reaction. She was a child of the storm, unleashed on the world seemingly from the fury of nature itself. Another bolt of lightning lit the room, and just like every storm, Myallore would swear she heard Kirali's scream in the thunder, heard the squeal of a baby echoing through the corridors. Moraelin just drew nearer to the window, as if believing the storm would not dare hurt her. Her arms were crossed over her chest, her axe and sword slung over her back, and Myallore watched, transfixed, as the lightning glittered in the jeweled hilt of Eregos's sword.

"Why did they do it?" Moraelin asked, her voice seeming to come from very far away as she posed a question that had haunted her through all of her long life.

"What do you mean?" Myallore's tone was brittle, careful, for somehow she knew exactly what Moraelin meant.

With a snap of her neck, Moraelin turned, and her dark eyes were lit by the lightning, "Why did my parents have me?" Her vehemence faded, and in a change so abrupt it stunned Myallore, Moraelin's voice dropped to the pleading whisper of a child, "They knew the risks. They knew my mother might not survive. They knew I would never be accepted. Why did they do it? Why did they have a child?"

Myallore lifted her hand slowly, brushing her thumb over Moraelin's temple. A single tear now dropped from Myallore's chin to leave a perfectly round spot of moisture on her dress, "Moraelin. Moraelin, I think...I think their love was too much for just the two of them. They needed to share it with another, and that other was you. It was impossible, that they could love each other as they did, for what could they possibly have in common? And yet, it was a force greater than they could contain. But, now I see, there is something else. I think they had you for this day. They knew, somehow, that you were meant for great things. And, here you are, you have come to us to make peace. You were born for this."

Moraelin was shaking her head, and finally buried her face in her hands, "I can't," she said, choking on the words, "I try to be strong in front of Legolas, but I am so afraid. If I fail, they will kill my brother, there will be war, and it will be my fault. I was born only to bring destruction, that is all."

"You will not fail," Myallore insisted, drawing Moraelin's hands away from her face and looking into her brown eyes, "You know your own worth, even though these lands have been cruel to you, in your heart you know you are capable of anything. You get that from your father."

With a small smile, Moraelin nodded. "And you still always know just what to say. I swear you could sweet talk a turtle right out of his shell."

Myallore threw her head back and laughed, "You know, I think I probably could. Now, you must tell me where you have been all these years, the places you have seen, the people you have met. I want to know everything."

With an indulgent smile, Moraelin allowed herself to be led to a chair in the corner of the room. She took a deep breath, and told the queen everything.

* * *

Thranduil stood in the washroom of the royal quarters, hunched over a basin. He could hear Myallore humming in the other room as she readied for bed. He stared down at the gleaming white marble of the basin, shot through with dark gray veins. His focus shifted and he studied his own reflection in the still water, the angry lines around his eyes that even age had not softened, the lips pursed in perpetual displeasure. What had become of him, when had he forgotten how to smile? He had a fine son, a beautiful realm, and the most stunning and kind wife in all of Arda. His happiness seemed an inevitability. And yet, he was troubled.

He dipped his hands into the water, if only to dash away his reflection. He splashed water on his face from his cupped hands, a few cold drops trailing down his neck to his bare chest. He knew that the darkness of Dol Guldur haunted him still, that he was a creature born for war. He had been fighting since he was barely strong enough to wield a blade, it was all he had known. When Dol Guldur lay in ruins, he had thought that he might finally know what peace was like. But, the moment he had let his guard down, Talendil had marched on the mines and brought them to the brink of war again. Would it ever end? Would there ever come a time when he felt he could step down, turn Mirkwood over to his heir? No, he would not leave his son a war-ravaged land to piece back together. Legolas deserved better than that.

"Legolas is all right? You looked at him?" Thranduil called.

Myallore stepped softly into the washroom, studying Thranduil from the doorway. He was slumped forward, his hands braced on either side of the sink and the thick muscles of his back flexed. The lantern light shone on the dark golden hair tossed carelessly over one shoulder.

"Yes. Moraelin did well. If it wasn't for her, he may have died."

"If it wasn't for Moraelin, he never would have been injured in the first place," Thranduil growled.

Myallore sighed. "Don't you think it's time you start showing Moraelin a little respect? She's here to help you."

Thranduil straightened, crossing his arms over his chest. He did not turn to her, he just let the silence stretch out between them. She was right, Eru's sake, she was usually right. But, Thranduil was just so blasted angry, he needed to unleash it on someone. Moraelin, a dwarf, created the most likely target. The person he really desired to turn his ire on was Talendil, but the elf had conveniently gotten himself captured. _That foolish, arrogant boy, how could he..."_

Myallore gripped the sides of Thranduil's arms and turned him. He faced her, towering above the she-elf in the blue and orange shadows of the darkened room. She lifted her hands to his neck, rubbing her thumbs along the surprisingly soft skin of his throat. He could not resist a slight shudder that tickled up his spine.

"It makes me so happy to see her," Myallore whispered with a tiny smile. To her delight, Thranduil blinked quickly, his eyes saturated with sudden guilt. "You conniving woman. You know just what to say to make me feel terrible."

Myallore's grin grew to a beaming smile, lighting her delicate face like a flash of dawn over a glassy lake. "I have learned a few things in all these years with you."

Thranduil's hands came to rest lightly on her back, his eyes finally unclouded by anger or worry. "I have not seen you so happy in a very long time, my love. For that, I suppose I must give Moraelin credit."

He pulled Myallore into his arms, his face twisted almost in pain. It was like this for him sometimes. He loved Myallore so much that he couldn't breathe, his chest constricted like a metal band tightening around him. He drew in a shaking breath and rested his chin on the top of her head. He may have gained a reputation as a stern, unflinching ruler, but his one weakness was Myallore. Against all other powers of Middle Earth, he stood proud, never backing down. But, Myallore, with no more than a glance, a certain tilt of her head, could make him feel anything she wanted. Only Myallore had entered the deepest parts of his guarded heart and now held a power over him such as he had never allowed any other.

Not that he had intended to hand over control of his heart to the smiling maiden the first night he met her at the Spring Festival, all those years ago. She had sort of burrowed into his soul, much as she was burrowing deeper into his embrace now. He smiled affectionately and reached down to lift her easily into his arms. He carried her to their bed as she tucked her head against his chest in contentment and trust.

"You are a good elf, Thranduil," she murmured, her warm breath feathering along his collarbone.

He froze at the edge of the bed, and frowning, said, "I never knew I gave you reason to doubt that. Why do you tell me this?"

Myallore's luminous eyes lifted to his. "I know it is true. I always have. But, you do not. I see the doubt, the uncertainty in your eyes. You need to be told. Every day."

Thranduil gritted his teeth. That uncomfortable tightening had squeezed the breath from his chest again. After all this time, he marveled to know that she could still affect him so.

"Thank you," he whispered. He kissed her, his lips warm as they moved slowly over hers. He laid her on their bed then so that he might thank her properly.


	17. The Captive

Disclaimer: Refer to Chapter 1

**Chapter 17: Captive**

Talendil slumped down, nearly drifting to sleep, nearly escaping into the welcome nothingness of his dreams. But, the shackles over his wrists tore further at the scabs on his skin, and he bolted awake. He grunted into the chilled darkness of the stone chamber, shifting his body back up, dropping his head back against the unyielding rock.

He felt weak, faded, just the act of sitting up exhausted him. Itchy patches of dried blood covered his face from his beating the day before, and he could not brush it away with his hands chained above his head. He had brushed some away with his shoulders, but much remained. And yet, he feared it was more than just his injuries that made him feel so wretched. He yearned for clean air, to feel the sunlight on his upturned face. He had heard it said that elves could not live without these things, that they withered if kept underground, and he had scoffed, thinking only the weak would succumb. What a fool he had been. He could feel day by day that the darkness was devouring him alive.

The flickering of torchlight appeared faintly in the doorway, growing a more harsh orange as someone approached. Talendil winced, squeezing his eyes shut for a long moment. He was tired of the helplessness, the humiliation of being beaten by a cackling gang of dwarves. Why couldn't they leave him be, just long enough to heal, just long enough to get over the old pain before new pain was piled on top of it? He lifted his head with purpose, forcing a look of quiet strength into his eyes, strength he did not really feel. His pride would not allow him to show even the briefest moment of weakness to his captors.

That was how the dwarves found him when they turned into the cavern, staring them down with that same defiant look he had maintained for all these weeks.

"Good morning, Captain," a dwarf with a scarred lower lip sneered, slapping a club against his meaty palm.

Talendil refused to look at the weapon, instead glaring into the beady eyes of the dwarf. But, his gaze was finally drawn away, and he peered around the other dwarves to one who lurked behind them. Sometimes he came with the others, but always he kept to the shadows, wearing a hood, never showing his face. Talendil had spotted the end of a braided black beard from within the dark hood, and he knew the mysterious figure was a dwarf. But, he was surely the tallest dwarf Talendil had ever seen, towering at least a head over all those around him.

"I see you have not broken him, Gahmer," a gravelly voice came from within the rough cloak, displeasure clear in his tone.

"No, Lord Zhul. He is stronger than he looks. What shall I do?"

"Keep trying, of course. Be creative. Try fire."

Zhul swept from the room, and even as the first blow fell across Talendil's chest, the elf kept his eyes on the huge dwarf as he walked away. It was this dwarf who kept him here, who meant to see him punished. In one single blind moment, Talendil's composure snapped, he lunged against his bonds, cursing violently in Sindarin at the retreating back of the dwarf. Zhul paused, glancing back at Talendil over one broad shoulder. The torchlight shone under his hood, sparking in his black eyes. He pierced Talendil with a gaze so calm and cold that Talendil fell back, dropping to the rough stone.

"Fire, Gahmer. Fire."

* * *

Moraelin marched through the halls of Thranduil's fortress, tugging her axe into place in annoyance. She had slept in. It was the first time she had slept in a real bed in so long, she had been reluctant to drag her exhausted body from under the covers. The scowl on her face deepened. Legolas would not be pleased.

"Moraelin!" A voice reached her ears, and Moraelin spun. Myallore was rushing after her, excitement shining from her sky-hued eyes. She gripped Moraelin's arm, dragging her further into the palace. "I can't believe I found it!" she exclaimed. Moraelin tried to gently pull her arm away, but found the queen was herding her back toward the royal chambers with surprising ease.

"My Lady, I am sorry, I must-"

"Legolas can wait. He is impatient, just like his father. I think they should both just calm down sometimes, don't you?"

Moraelin smiled warmly and gave up the fight, obediently following Myallore. As she crossed the threshold into the queen's chamber, she stopped short, the color draining from her face. Moraelin stared ahead in disbelief and nausea, suddenly wanting nothing more than to flee from this place before the queen could see how she was affected. For, in the middle of the room, suspended from a wooden dress form, unchanged by the centuries, was Moraelin's Swan Feather dress.

She realized that Myallore was talking, and tried to slow the drumming of her heartbeat enough to listen.

"The Festival has been postponed due to this...unpleasantness with Talendil. But, when you have all returned safely to us, we will have much to celebrate. You should dance again, Moraelin."

Moraelin shook her head so emphatically that her ear chains slapped against her face. Feeling the sharp metal snap across her skin reminded her of one of a thousand reasons why she would never dance again. She was a dwarf. Elven traditions held no allure to her anymore...and yet...

"I couldn't Myallore. I just couldn't. It has been too long. I'm sure Legolas would say the same thing."

"He misses dancing," Myallore said softly, "For many years we tried to get him to at least judge the dance, but at first he could not even stand to watch it...he would wander into the woods and not return for many hours."

"Why didn't he just choose another partner?" Moraelin asked, still unable to tear her eyes away from the dress.

"You know why." Myallore said with quiet vehemence. Moraelin looked away, wincing and shaking her head again.

"I have to go," she said, pivoting for the door.

"Please think about it. That is all I ask."

Moraelin looked back over her shoulder at Myallore with sad eyes, "You do not know how much it means to me that you kept the dress. But, I cannot promise anything. There is too much that is uncertain." Moraelin sighed and dredged up a small smile, "I will see you soon."

Moraelin turned away, hurrying on her way again. She was still reeling with old memories and new guilt as she emerged into the front courtyard. She could see Legolas speaking with the stable master far across the grassy yard. Feeling her heart constrict painfully, Moraelin bit her lip. Surely, she would give her very life to dance with Legolas again. But, those times were in the past, and she would do best to leave them there.

When she reached the large stable doors, she could hear Legolas's conversation with the stable master. "You're sure he is not yet well enough to bear a rider?"

"Yes, your highness. That was a pretty big chunk that got taken out of him, he'd best rest a few days yet."

"Rocky?" Moraelin asked in alarm, "What is wrong, what has happened—"

"Nothing, Moraelin, he is fine. He's just not ready to set out again..." Legolas trailed off as Moraelin scurried by him, afraid for her old friend.

He sighed, exchanging a small smile with the stable master. Suddenly, Legolas frowned. "You don't have any mares in heat, do you?"

"Yes, two right now. Why do you ask?"

"Keep a close eye on Rock while we're gone. He has a certain...reputation for his productivity."

"I'll do that, sir."

"Moraelin!" Legolas called, going back to Rock's stall.

"They bandaged his wound. Better than I could have. They're very good here." There was a vulnerable apprehension in her eyes as she rubbed Rock's neck.

"He's in good hands here, Moraelin. Do not worry."

"I know, it's just hard to leave him behind."

Legolas nodded, his eyes softening as Moraelin kissed the horse on his forehead. But, Moraelin jerked back, her face twisting as pain tore up her spine. She tried to muffle it, but a grunt slipped from her lips as she doubled over. As the waves of pain reluctantly subsided, Legolas's voice reached her ears and she realized he had vaulted over the stall door and was leaning over her in panic.

"Moraelin, what is it?"

She bit her lip, straightening to her full height with great effort. "I—I think it's Talendil. Something is wrong, Legolas."

He nodded, his eyes grim, and drew her out of the stall. "We have another horse ready for you. Let us go."

Moraelin nodded, nearly sprinting down the center aisle of the stable to her new mount. "Sorry, Rocky, no time for long good-byes," she whispered, vaulting into the saddle and spurring her horse out of the gates.

Legolas paused, seeing across the stable yard a lone figure clad in fine gray robes. Legolas looked once again at Moraelin, watching her thunder down the residential streets in the direction of the distant mountains. Gripping the reins, Legolas walked his horse across the damp ground, nodding to his father in silence.

"Legolas," Thranduil said with no emotion. He drew in a slow breath, "I don't need to tell you how much Talendil means to our people, or how much he means to me."

"I wish you were coming with us," Legolas said, "It would show the dwarves you are serious about these negotiations if you were at least in the army encampment."

"The Council will not have it, son. They think it too dangerous for me to go to the front lines myself. If these blasted councilors have their way, I will end up dying in my sleep, not with a sword in my hand as a proper king should."

A crooked smile spread over Legolas's face, "You are one of a kind, Father." Legolas leapt into the saddle, looking down at Thranduil with confident eyes, "Next time you see me, Talendil will be at my side. I swear it."

Legolas spun his mount, driving it on in Moraelin's wake as his father looked on with troubled eyes.


	18. No Promises

Disclaimer: Refer to Chapter 1

A/N: I'm going to give this story another go, due to encouragement from a great friend. I hope everyone enjoys this!

**Chapter 18: No Promises**

Thranduil sent some of his most trusted soldiers as an entourage for his son, but even these seasoned warriors had difficulty catching up with Moraelin. Something drove her on, something she could not understand or even name. She just knew they were running out of time.

She had stopped for only the most reluctant lunch break and rode past nightfall, appearing determined to ride through the night. After several volleys of concerned glances had passed between the other elves, Legolas trotted up beside her. He took her horse's reins and drew the animal to a halt, earning a deadly glare from Moraelin.

"You may not be tired, but your horse is...and I am. We must stop for the night."

Moraelin reluctantly dismounted. They were near a stream, it was a good campsite, but she wanted to argue they go just a little further, get a little closer. _What do you care? He sent you away to die alone. Leave him in the mines to rot._

Moraelin nearly shuddered at the unwelcome thoughts, but could not deny they had been drifting about in her mind all along. She was confused and she didn't want to see anyone right now. She took the time only to unsaddle her horse, but gave no mind to the other camp chores. She wandered off into the trees, following the meandering path of the stream, embarrassed by her moodiness.

Legolas watched her retreating back, exchanging a look with Oristor, an army healer. Legolas sighed, knowing she didn't want to be followed, but knowing just as well that he would find no peace worrying about her.

Legolas found her on a grassy cutoff bank of the stream, her boots tossed aside and her pants rolled up to the knees. Her legs dangled in the water while she lay on her back, looking up at the stars.

He could not resist the smile that twitched at the corners of his mouth. "What in Arda are you doing, Moraelin?"

"I think my feet stink," she said, tipping her head to look up at him, "Besides, it feels good. You should try it. And, I might ask what you are doing sneaking up on an armed Dwarf. We are dangerous when startled."

Legolas's deep chuckle floated on the night air, "You sound a lot like another Dwarf I know..."

Dropping onto the shore beside her, Legolas became serious, "Are you all right?"

Moraelin sat up, staring out into the endless darkness of Mirkwood for a long time before she said, "I'm really going to see him again, aren't I?"

"That frightens you?"

"Yes," she said quickly. It almost felt good to admit it to Legolas and to herself. "I thought I had put this all behind me. But, it was all an act, I was fooling myself. I never really dealt with how things ended here, I just put it away and tried tostart over. I thought I had learned to stop questioning who I was, so I could just live my life and not think about it." Now that the confessions had begun, she couldn't seem to stop them, "Do you know I went to the Grey Havens, swam in the ocean just to see if it called to me as it does you? I sat for hours on the beach and then dove into the water and floundered around like a blasted fool until I nearly drowned, waiting for something...that something other elves feel. But, the sea does not call to me."

"There is more to being an elf than longing for the sea." Legolas quietly argued.

"Like what? Walking on snow, singing, seeing for miles? I can't do any of those things either."

"But, you can dance," Legolas countered gently, "And you can heal, and you do glow." He placed his hand a hairs-breadth from Moraelin's face, close enough that she could feel its warmth, and studied the light reflecting on his curved fingers. "You have a beautiful light," he whispered.

Moraelin looked up at him in the inky darkness, but even with his elven eyesight Legolas could not see the look of apprehension, almost fear in her eyes.

"You mustn't say things like that to me," Moraelin said.

"I need to say these things," Legolas shot back, "I need to stay all those things I should have said to you years ago—"

"Enough," Moraelin ordered, jumping to her feet and groping in the darkness for her boots, "Don't say anymore."

"I must. You must listen—"

"No," she said, spinning at him, her eyes seeming to flash in anger, "I have to think of my brother, of the task before me. Do not make things more complicated with what you are about to say."

"So, you already know what I mean to say," Legolas said flatly, "And yet you don't care enough to listen."

Moraelin felt tears well in her eyes, "Don't say that to me. Of course I care. I just can't do this right now. Good night, Legolas."

"Stay." That single word stopped Moraelin in mid-step, but she did not turn back as he continued. "Moraelin, tell me you'll stay, after these negotiations are taken care of. Please, Moraelin, don't leave again."

The High Prince of Mirkwood had never begged for anything in his life, but not for a moment did he regret the note of pleading that had entered his voice.

Moraelin never turned, never looked at him. A cool breeze had picked up and blew in her face, drying the tears that clung to her lashes. "I can promise you nothing," she whispered and started back for camp.

* * *

The next morning, Moraelin saddled her horse at dawn, seeming to care very little if the rest of the group followed or not. She avoided Legolas's sharp blue gaze as he saddled his mount next to her. Her initial hurt and confusion had condensed into anger. How dare he dredge up the past now, when she needed to concentrate on negotiating her brother's release? And, if he were so interested in talking about old feelings, why hadn't he come after her all those years ago? Why hadn't he looked for her?

Moraelin slapped her swordbelt around her waist with unnecessary force. But, as always, she felt stronger with it on. She closed her hand over the gem-studded handle and thought of her father. _If only you were here_, she said to Eregos in silent desperation. _Father, you would tell me what I should do._

Thoughts of her father made Moraelin a little melancholy, diluting her anger as the day wore on. The truth was, Moraelin had tried not to think of Eregos in recent years. She did not think her father would like who she had become, nor be proud to find one of his children living alone in the wilds with no future, avoiding her past. She thought he would be pleased to see her now helping her wayward brother, albeit reluctantly.

Moraelin did not keep up the formerrapid pace, instead allowing some of Thranduil's scouts to do their jobs and ride ahead of the group. She frowned at her sore muscles from the day before. This horse had a gait like three-legged warg, and she found herself missing Rock terribly. The terrain became more rugged after mid-day, and she sensed they were nearing the foothills of the mountains. The trees began to thin out, and as they reached the river, Moraelin caught her first glimpse of the mountains looming before them. They were jagged and formidable, just the type of home Dwarves dream of.

One of the scouts met them at the river and told Legolas, "The river is in flood, Highness, this ford is too dangerous. But, there is another crossing to the south that I think we could manage."

Moraelin scowled but remained silent. More delays. Always more delays. They picked their way through thick alder along the river's course until finally they reached the ford. Moraelin managed to keep her expression neutral, but her mouth went dry as she saw the proposed crossing. This stretch of water did not seem any less wild or flooded than the other ford, if anything it looked worse. But, she just wanted to be across the blasted river and on her way. The scout urged his horse into the river and Moraelin plunged in after him, gasping as the icy water churned around her legs. Only a few more steps and the horses were neck deep. Moraelin gripped the saddlehorn tightly. She knew her sudden tension was making the horse nervous, but she felt with each lurching step she might be tossed to the mercy of the river.

The scout's horse splashed safely onto the opposite bank, and she calmed a little, knowing the worst of it was behind her. She clamped her teeth together in fear as she felt her horse stumble beneath her. She tried to keep her seat, but the animal flopped sideways and Moraelin was swept into the frothy river. She let out a gurgling yell and flailed to keep her head above the water. Oristor leaned far over and tried to grab Moraelin as she rushed by him. She eluded him by inches and he turned his mount for the opposite shore. The party broke into chaos as riders tore back through the clinging brush, following the bobbing form that was trying desperately to keep from being swallowed up by the hungry river.

Legolas had been concentrating on guiding his horse through the rushing waters when the scream and splash rose up before him and stopped his heart cold. He had watched in horror as she was pulled into the river, and her name tore from his throat. He now was riding blindly through alder thickets, the branches tearing at his face and clothing as he tried to keep sight of her. Every time her head disappeared, Legolas's chest tightened in terror, he couldn't breathe, he felt like he was drowning with her.

Legolas spotted a string of boulders in the waters ahead. He kicked his mount forward, galloping ahead of the other riders. As he reached the rocks, he leapt from his horse before it even slowed and hit the ground running. Jumping across the rocks, he was soon in the middle of the river, its roar pounding into his ears. He watched Moraelin as she approached. She went under and came up sputtering. He could see she was trying to turn her body, to keep her head away from the rocks that the river meant to hurl her against. She didn't see him. He screamed her name, but knew she could not hear. She was almost to him now, and he saw her spin further away. Jumping to the next rock, a large flat boulder, he lay on his belly, reaching out for her. He was stretched out too far, he knew he was soon to fall in and share her fate, but he didn't care. She was nearly to him, and he stretched further over the brown water. She reached him, and he saw her eyes, wild, begging for his help…but she was too far away. She sped by, just out of his reach and was tossed against a sharp rock. Moraelin went under…and he didn't see her come back up.

Legolas fell backwards, screaming, hysterical, ready to throw himself into the water. He thought he saw Moraelin's arm break the surface before the river took a sharp bend and she was gone.

As he jumped from the last rock and crashed awkwardly onto the shore, Legolas saw the scout had retrieved his horse and was waiting for him. Legolas scrambled into the saddle and they took up the chase again. But, as they came around the bend in the river, they saw nothing, just more ugly, dirty water roiling within its banks. Legolas's breaths were choppy; his panicked blue eyes searched the river for some sign of Moraelin. He saw nothing.

The scout, Maralir, saw Oristor on the opposite bank and asked in hurried hand sign if he had seen her. All Oristor did was shake his head sadly.

They all looked defeated, devoid of hope, and Legolas turned on Maralir in fury, "No, no this isn't over. We must keep looking."

"We will, Legolas. But, I don't think she could—"

"I don't want you to think. I want you to ride." Legolas replied coldly. He wheeled his horse around and continued downstream. The other elves followed, but more slowly, their grief already weighing heavily upon them.

* * *

It had been nearly an hour. Legolas felt completely numb. The river ran beside him cruel and uncaring, tearing at its own banks in its rage. What chance did Moraelin have against such power?

He turned his horse to scour this stretch of shoreline again. The elves had split up and were walking both sides of the river. He knew the others expected to find nothing more than a broken body, if anything at all. The very thought that Moraelin was dead shredded Legolas's insides, so he dared not entertain it.

The brush became thicker and Legolas dismounted, leading his horse with slow steps. His tired eyes suddenly latched onto something below him. In a calmer backwash of the river, piles of brush, even a couple of trees had collected. Laying over one of these trees was a small body.

"Moraelin?" Legolas called, his voice breaking.

She lifted her head from where it rested on the trunk, her eyes glazed with fatigue. "Legolas," she whispered, and looked like she meant to say something else, but couldn't quite form the words.

He breathed her name again, stumbling down the bank and crashing through the debris to reach her. He wrapped his arms around her, meaning to lift her from the water when she grunted in displeasure. Her hair had become entangled in the brush, and he took a moment to free her. He saw that blood was dripping from a gash that ran from the heel of her hand almost her elbow. She was quiet as he took her from the water's grasp and onto shore.

When he laid her on the sandy bank, she looked up at him. Her voice was scratchy as she said, "You borrowed me a clumsy horse. Rock would have never pitched me off like that."

Legolas laughed, relief shining in his eyes as he brushed the matted hair away from her face. Moraelin smiled weakly back, tossing her good arm around his neck and pulling him close. She smelled slightly of fish, but Legolas didn't care. As he cradled her against his chest, he was just grateful she was alive.

It was a long time before he could let her go, but when he pulled away, he saw a tear slip down her cheek. "I'm sorry," she whispered, looking away in embarrassment. Legolas just reached out, brushing her cheeks dry with his thumbs. When she finally met his eyes again, he was looking at her so strangely, his face tightened and uncertain. Then, he lowered his face, catching her lips with his and holding her face with his hands. She began to kiss him back, grabbing at his arms with her hands when a voice rang from the bank above.

"Highness! Highness, you found her!"

Legolas pulled away, a smirk crossing his face. "We are never going to be allowed to properly finish a kiss, are we?'

Moraelin sighed, "No, I don't think so."


End file.
